


Got Riff

by Dragonlove



Series: Got Riff [1]
Category: Metallica
Genre: Angst, Eventual Threesome, Eventual mild kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut, Voyeurism, description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonlove/pseuds/Dragonlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I expected a memorable night when I purchased my special Fanclub tickets for Rock im Revier. Little did I know how special things would get...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

_Gelsenkirchen, May 29th 2015_

 

“You're beautiful, Gelsenkirchen,” James shouts and the crowd in front of the stage cheers.

I have to laugh out loud, for this city is a lot of things but beautiful it's not. Which is one of the reasons I left as soon as I'd finished school and only came back when I couldn't avoid it.

 

Until tonight. Until I got the chance to not only see Metallica live, but to actually get on stage with them. Me and 99 other fan club members that is. We're standing at the back of the stage and that means that the guys have turned their backs to us most of the time. But James, Kirk and Rob make a point of including us into the show and every now and then one of them will come over, shake hands or even pose for a quick cellphone-snapshot.

  


They are in brilliant form tonight and even though the stadium isn't sold out, I think this is one of the best shows they've ever played.

Clearly, James thinks so, too. They're playing Master of Puppets and he's come over again, his eyes ablaze with energy and pure, fierce joy. Our eyes meet, but I’m not sure he actually sees me, he’s that high on adrenaline. I’ve got to admit his look makes my stomach tighten. I can’t help it, he’s just oozing sex appeal. No man more than fifteen years my senior should have that effect on me.

  


Then he's gone again and I shake my head and chuckle at myself.

  


The band plays for more than two hours and when the lights come back on, I get the feeling, they are as reluctant to leave as the fans are.

  


Two of the roadies usher us off the stage and into a large room with a bar and buffet. Even if the show had been crap, the catering alone would have been worth the extra money the “On-stage”-ticket had cost.

  


It's almost midnight when Metallica enter the room for the promised meet and greet. Lars immediately mingles with the crowd and I can hear his excited chatter wavering over the heads. Rob resolutely pushes his way to the buffet and Kirk longingly stares at the food, too, but is too polite to just ignore the fans wanting to talk to him.

James is the last to appear and he only takes one step into the room, seemingly scanning the people. He's now wearing a plain white long-sleeve and of course one of his skin tight black jeans. I wonder if he's got a huge pile stacked away somewhere to last him through the next bootcut-revival.

  


I can see him bending down to whisper something to Lars, who looks up with a grin and a shrug. Again James looks around. Our eyes meet and I feel my heart pounding in my throat as he starts walking towards me.

  


He asks my name and I tell him. He shakes my hand. “Hi. I'm James”, he says. Of course he knows I know his name, but I appreciate the gesture.

We talk about the show and I ask him if they were disappointed by they comparatively small crowd. After all, 30.000 is hardly what they must be used to by now. James grins and shakes his head. “Nah, it doesn't matter if it's eighteen people or 80.000 as long as the mood is right. And the crowd was fun, don't you think?”

We discuss the short but already quite volatile history of this new festival. It's interesting how our respective backgrounds and perspectives add up to a bigger picture of what was going on before “Rock im Revier” actually became reality tonight. The whole time I'm aware of the way his eyes keep travelling to my mouth or my neck and occasionally lower. I can feel a blush creeping up my face. First I think I'm imagining things, but after a while it becomes apparent that James' mind is wandering from polite chitchat with a fan to something else entirely. I interrupt myself mid-sentence and just watch as he again seems to be lost in probably dirty thoughts. It takes a few seconds for him to notice my silence. His eyes snap up and he actually blushes slightly, like a schoolboy being caught wool-gathering. 

I cock my head and give him a little knowing smile. James returns my smile.

His fingertips brush over the back of my hand and I feel myself nod in answer to his unspoken question. I've never pictured myself as a groupie but it seems my mind has no say in this decision, my body has already taken over.

James places his hand on the small of my back and manoeuvres us through the crowd. I'm glad we're already close to the door, but nevertheless I can feel heads turn and eyes pierce into my back. Lars arches an eyebrow and grins as we push past him. I would have preferred a more discreet exit, but I guess this is as discreet as it gets when dealing with one of the closed fist.

  


As we walk along the corridor, I can feel James' fingers hot through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.

He opens a door and we step into a green room. There's a couch, a coffee-table, a large TV and two massage tables and I can't suppress a grin. It's easy to imagine who has to wait their turn for massages.

James seems to read my thoughts. He smirks. “We actually draw straws, you know”, he says and it's hard to tell if he's joking or not.

  


He closes and locks the door behind us and runs his right hand through his hair.

  


We stand facing each other for an endless moment. He lifts his hand as if to touch me and stops short a breath away of my cheek. I can't believe he really turns shy on me now.

  


Swiftly, I make a decision. I'm usually not that straight forward with a guy, but I figure if I don't take on the initiative, we'll be dancing around each other the whole night. And I know this one night is all we've got.

  


I take a small step forward, invading his personal space. I reach out my hand and knot my fingers into his shirt.

  


It's all the invitation he needs and his lips crash onto mine, his tongue instantly demanding access to my mouth. I moan softly and yield. James tastes of ice-tea and peppermint. His tongue brushes over mine and I feel my toes curl, while my fingers dig deeper into his long-sleeve.

  


As we come up for breath, James rubs his thumb over my already swollen lower lip. “I've been wanting to do that since I saw you on stage”, he murmurs and kisses me again, gentler this time but no less hungrily.

  


His hands are on my waist now, crawling up underneath my T-Shirt. He's got big hands with long, strong fingers. It almost feels as if he could reach around my waist, but of course that's me imagining things again. Slender I might be, anorexic I'm not. He pushes my shirt up and over my head, then ghosts his finger over the swell of my breasts. James bows his head and I can feel his warm breath on my cool skin. I shiver, feeling goose bumps erupting all over my body. Then his lips caress my skin, surprisingly soft and incredible erotic.

  


“Jesus”, I sigh.

  


“James”, he corrects mildly, but with a smile so smug it makes me laugh.

  


He brushes the straps of my bra from off my shoulders and reaches round to unclasp it. The lacy garment drops to the floor. James follows my ribcage from my back to the front of my body, where he delicately strokes the outline of my breasts. His callused fingertips feel rough against my sensitive skin.

  


I start pulling his long-sleeve up, but James gets hold of my wrists.

“Hold that thought”, he murmurs.

  


Opening a door I haven't noticed before, he disappears into an adjoining dressing room, where I can hear him rummaging through bags and drawers.

  


“Ha! I knew he'd have some.”

  


James comes back to me, dropping a pack of condoms onto the coffee table.

  


“Now”, he says, cupping my face with both hands, “where were we?”

  


I'm almost as tall as he is, so he only has to slightly incline his head to devour my mouth again. 

  


As much as I enjoy being thoroughly kissed by James, after a few moments I press my palms against his chest, pushing him back.

  


“You were about to get out of that”, I remind him, pulling at his shirt.

  


“Right”, James murmurs and obediently pulls his long-sleeve over his head, revealing his toned chest. Instantly I want to rake my nails through the light fur covering his tattoos, and as I do, I scratch a small pink nipple with the nail of my ring finger, harder than I intended. His breath catches for a moment. And the nipple instantly hardens into a little nub. 

So he likes it a little rough? I file that away for later use. 

  


He pops the button of my jeans and I suddenly remember that I went with comfortable rather than sexy when putting on my undies this morning. James doesn’t seem to mind. He slips his hand inside my cotton panties and I gasp, glad that at least I've trimmed everything neatly just this morning. He strokes softly over my clit a few times before pushing his hand lower. I clutch at his shoulder for support as my knees turn weak. My jeans are so tight that he can barely move his hand and the pressure against my skin is already driving my senses into overdrive.

  


When he's reached his goal, James raises an amused eyebrow at the wetness he finds.

  


I grin and press my palm against the bulge in his jeans, delighted to hear his sharp intake of breath. “Seems we’re both easy”, I comment, applying a bit more pressure.

  


He lets out a low growl but at the same time I can see the corner of his mouth twitch with a smile. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” he says and slips a blunt finger inside of me, which effectively shuts me up.

  


All I can think of is how incredible good that feels and that I want more of it. And while my left hand is still clutching James' shoulder, I can feel him grow even harder underneath my right hand. I rub him through the stiff denim and am rewarded with a low groan. 

  


Again he catches my mouth for a deep kiss and at the same time pulls his hand out, but only to push my jeans and my underwear down my legs as far as he can. I try to wriggle out of them without breaking the kiss, which proofs to be impossible. We both laugh as I nearly land on my ass. 

  


His jeans are so tight he has to sit on the couch to struggle out of them along with his briefs. I drop to my knees between his long legs and take the opportunity to let my eyes rake over his body. He's lean and fit and even though his goatee contains more white than blonde these days, there are a lot of younger men in much worse shape.

  


I let my eyes travel lower. His cock is very straight and dusky red against his otherwise pale skin. I swallow against my dry throat. James is a tall guy and his cock doesn't disappoint in size either.

  


I can see the muscles of his abdomen twitch underneath his skin. The Mighty Hetfield trembling for my touch – I must say I like that.

  


His hands are resting on my shoulders. I hold his gaze as I lick my lips and lean forward.

  


“God, yes,” he hisses as I close my lips around him.

  


He doesn't push up but lets me take control of it, watching me through hooded eyes. Slowly I let my lips glide down his shaft. I can smell soap and what I take for fabric softener and for a moment I wish he hadn't showered. But then I inwardly shrug. I guess we'll have worked up new sweat soon enough. When I've sucked in all I can take I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, forming a tight ring with my fingers. I can feel the blood pulsing through the vein underneath the silky skin. James' breathing's become heavier. He slowly pulls the tie from my ponytail and my dark hair snakes around his arm like yet another tattoo. I let my tongue twirl around the head of his cock and he involuntarily arches up a bit, letting out a low moan.

  


Okay, he likes that.

  


On my way down I add just a hint of teeth. I can feel the shudder than runs through his body.

  


“You keep that up and this'll be over in a few minutes”, he warns.

  


I hollow my cheeks on the way up, before reluctantly releasing him with an obscene plopping sound. “Now, we can't have that”, I say. I fumble for the condoms and fish one from the pack. I've never been very skilled in handling those so I just push the foil package into James' hand and let him deal with it.

  


But James seems to have difficulties, too. “Fuck”, he curses under his breath as he tries to roll the rubber down over his shaft, “I forgot he buys them smaller.”

  


I can't hide my grin, but James is too occupied to notice. Finally he succeeds and looks at me again, a feral gleam in his eyes. 

  


Before he can move, though, I press my palm against his sternum, keeping him in place on the couch. I straddle his hips, but for the moment I keep our bodies separated, so that we can feel each others heat, but don't touch. Not yet. 

  


James places his hands on my hips. He could easily pull me down onto him, but he humours me. I seek out his mouth for a heated kiss. His hands glide from my hips over my back to my shoulders and as our tongues seem to melt into each other I lower myself slowly onto his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly I can feel him enter me until finally James is filling me completely. I sigh into the kiss. James wraps his arms around me, one hand cradling my head, the other pressing against the small of my back, pulling me closer still. 

  


I can feel my head spinning. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen from our kiss, maybe it's the thought  _ “this really  _ is _ happening” _ that keeps echoing in my head. 

  


Suddenly I can feel a change in James' movements. Both his arms move lower and he gets a tight hold on me, pushing up from the couch until he's upright, with me clinging to him like a spider monkey.

  


For a moment I fear for his back, but he only carries me for two or three steps before lowering me onto one of the massage tables. 

  


“You're okay?”, he asks.

  


I nod. “More than okay”, I grin and wrap my legs around him again. 

  


James snaps his hips forward and from this angle he gets in even deeper than before. We both groan as he hits a sensitive spot deep inside me. 

  


Somebody bangs against the door. “We’re leaving in fifteen. With or without you!” Lars shouts. When he doesn’t get a reply he kicks at the door. “You heard me, Het?”

  


James stops moving and rolls his eyes. “Fuck off!” he yells.

  


I can hear Lars cackle and his footsteps retreat.

  


James runs his hands over my body and I arch into his touch without thinking. 

  


“God, you're gorgeous.”

  


He bends over me and lightly bites the skin over my collarbone, his fingers stroking down both my arms until he can interlace them with my own. I clench my inner muscles, trying to get him to move again.

  


He grins and squeezes my hands but remains stubbornly unmoving below waistline.

  


“I'm enjoying this way too fucking much to already let you go”, he says as if talking to himself.

Looking up from our joined hands, he asks: “We're leaving for Munich around noon, but… maybe you can spend the night?”

  


I realize he's noticed the ring on my left hand and, not knowing wedding-bands are traditionally worn on the right hand in Germany, has come to a wrong conclusion.

Although all I care about right now is to get him moving again, I can't stop myself from teasing him.

“You think that’s a fair question while you're balls deep inside me?”

  


James laughs softly and I shiver as the vibration of the sound travels through both our bodies.

  


He pulls back until the head of his cock barely touches my entrance and I already think I’ve reached my goal, when he stops.

  


“Better?” he asks with an evil smirk.

  


“Goddammit, James Hetfield!” I curse.

  


He raises his eyebrows. “What do you want?” his voice is pure sin and I cringe under the intensity of his gaze.

  


“Are you going to make me beg for it?” I gasp out and I can read on his face that's exactly what he's going to do.

  


Slowly, oh so slowly, he pushes in again and I've got to admit I mewl in frustration.

  


My fingernails dig into his forearms, but he remains unfazed and even slows down further.

I give in. “Please, James!”

  


He bends down for a surprisingly gentle kiss, followed by a soft bite into my bottom lip.

  


“Please what?” he whispers against my mouth.

  


I would stomp my foot if it wasn't for the strange angle I'm lying in. I settle for digging my heel into the backside of his thigh instead.

  


“Please fuck me, James. Make me come. I want you. I want to feel your cock inside of me. Deep. Hard. Please!”

  


I can see the effect my words have on him as his pupils dilate until his ice blue eyes seem almost black. He swallows hard.

  


“Fuck”, he breaths, “you beg pretty.”

  


He unwraps my legs from around his hips and places my feet on his shoulders instead. Gripping my hips like a jaw-trap he pushes all the way in with an almost brutal stab, and I have to bite my own wrist to keep myself from crying out loud.

He pushes into me with such force that my body slips up the massage table.

  


“Oh no, you don't”, he growls, gets an even stronger hold on my hipbones and pulls me down again, crushing our bodies together.

  


Even though his fingernails are clipped short, I can feel the skin break in two or three spots.

I don't know if it's the sharp, unexpected pain or the thought that with my pale, sensitive skin, I'll be carrying his marks for weeks. Probably it's a combination of all that that pushes me over the edge and I come hard, wildly bucking up against James. 

  


I vaguely register his deep groan, as James too climaxes, before collapsing over me, covering me with his body, my feet slipping off his sweaty shoulders. I instinctively wrap my arms around him, waiting for my vision to clear again. There are still black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

We lie like that for a few shuddering breaths, then he presses a kiss to the side of my neck and pulls himself up.

I sigh softly as he pulls out, already regretting the loss of him.

  


“So”, he says, as he helps me sit up, “you still haven't answered my question.”

With his index finger he circles my left nipple, which instantly hardens again. “I love how responsive you are”, he says, “and there are some things I'd still like to try...”

  


“Like what?” I try to make it sound like a challenge. My body obviously shouts my eagerness loudly enough, but I don't want him to think I'll drop into his bed like windfall. 

After all, he likes to hunt. 

  


The gleam in his eyes tells me he's accepted my bait, enjoying my verbal teasing. 

  


Wrapping my hair around his wrist, James pulls my head slightly back, exposing my neck. He brushes his lips over my skin, letting his canine scrape over my throat, then soothing the skin with the soft tip of his tongue.

  


“Well for one thing”, he then says as if putting together a shopping list, “I haven't tasted you yet, and I very much want to.”

  


He grins at the little needy sound that escapes my lips.

  


Challenge accepted.

  


Leaning in, he whispers into my ear. “I want to make you scream.”

  


Bastard. He knows exactly how sexy his voice is. Yeah, I guess, being a singer he should know, too.

  


I get off the abused massage table and steal another kiss, letting my hand travel down his back to his ass and squeeze. “How could I say no to that?”

  


  


  


  



	2. Chapter 2

James unlocks the door and holds it open for me. There's a security guy in the passageway and the second he sees us, he speaks into his radio. "They're coming out now." He nods at James with no emotion on his face and James returns the acknowledgement just as professionally. I guess when you've had people taking care of your security and personal stuff for as long James and the others, you have to become more or less indifferent to what these people pick up about you. Otherwise you just go insane.

It's pouring as we step outside the venue. The others have already taken off, for which I'm infinitely grateful. I'm sure they're all great guys, but the thought of them looking at me, knowing...  
Not that I have any regrets about it, but I guess I'm not groupie enough to stand that. 

James wraps his leather jacket around my shoulders, acting like the perfect gentleman. The combined smell of the leather and his cologne makes me snuggle deeper into the jacket.  
He points down the concrete steps in front of us, where I can see the vague outlines of an SUV, slightly darker than the rain-filled darkness of the night. “We'll make a run for it, 'kay?”, he says, “watch your step.” He gets hold of my elbow and we dart through the heavy rain. He opens the rear door and all but pushes me into the car, scrambling in after me.  
The partition is already up and the car starts moving the second the door slams shut behind James. 

We grin at each other in the dim light of the interior lighting. The rain has plastered his short hair to his scalp and I don't even attempt to fight my urge to run my fingers through it. James leans into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment. He presses a quick kiss to my wrist, then fishes out his phone.  
I wonder who on earth he feels he needs to text right now and instantly decide I really don't want to know. 

James pockets his phone again and turns towards me with a predatory grin. I shoot a quick glance towards the partition and he follows my eyes, his grin broadening. 

"Where are we going?", I ask.

"Hotel", he answers shortly, his hand already crawling up my thigh.

I cover his hand with my own, again glancing towards the obscured driver.  
"And where's that?"

James waves his free hand. He's busy nibbling at my neck, as if he knows it drives me wild. "Somewhere in Düsseldorf...", he says vaguely.

I relax into his touch. That gives us about 40 minutes. I let my head drop back against the head-rest, exposing my neck further.

"You like that?" James murmurs against my skin, his warm breath tickling me softly. 

I hum out an affirmation. I can't decide whether to concentrate on his soft lips on my neck or his demanding hand on my thigh. I realise I'm still covering his hand with my own, not that this has kept him from slowly slipping his hand upwards.  
Sighing out my content, I reach for his face and tilt my head so that his lips find mine.  
His hand slips between my legs and I'm sure he can feel my heat even through the denim of my jeans. 

I make a move as if to unfasten my seatbelt to grant him better access. This time, James stills my hand with his.

"Ah-ah", he chides, "I've heard German authorities are terribly strict when it comes to seatbelts. Wouldn't want you to get arrested."  
He leers at me. "But I'll admit I like the idea of you in handcuffs."

_Whoa, easy tiger. Much too soon for this kind of thing,_ I think. But I don't want to put him off, so I boldly reach for the growing bulge in his jeans and give him a gentle squeeze.  
"Yeah? But then I couldn't do that." 

James hisses and bucks into my hand while capturing my mouth with his again. “Now, that would be a shame, wouldn't it?”, he mumbles against my lips. His tongue pushes into my mouth again and I simply melt into my car seat underneath his hungry attack. 

Blindly I try to unbuckle his heavy belt and him pressing against me doesn't make my task any easier. I finally succeed and the stiff leather in my hand makes me recall his comment about handcuffs. I moan into our passionate kiss. 

James hands are busy with my jeans as well and he deftly undoes the button and zip. Slipping his hand inside, he gently rubs me, making me shiver.  
“So wet”, he whispers into my mouth, increasing the pressure a bit, “so hot...”

My brain has already given up on forming coherent thoughts, let alone speaking, so all I do is whimper under his touch and crash our mouths together again.  
I try to slip my hand into his jeans, but James pulls away.  
“Just lay back and enjoy.”

Easier said than done, as James turns out to be the biggest tease in the history of back-seat sex, taking me to the edge three times, before he lets me come on his hand.  
“Tease!” I protest when I can think straight again.

James just smirks at me. “Tell me you didn't like that. Besides, I'm the one suffering here”, he says and presses my hand against his crotch. He is indeed rock hard. I shrug out of his jacket.  
“Better take this then”, I grin, “unless you want to give people another show.” 

I quickly straighten my own clothes as I can see we have left the Autobahn and are heading straight for the city centre of Düsseldorf.

We do not stop at the entrance of the five star hotel, but our driver makes directly for the underground parking. I finally unbuckle my seatbelt with slightly trembling hands.  
“Hold it”, James says, not unkindly, but determined.  
He pulls me against his chest and starts kissing me, and I have no idea how much time passes before somebody knocks against the window at James' side of the car. He breaks away from me and smiles. “Okay, now.”

He opens the door and with his other hand he takes my hand and pulls me with him.  
As we get out, we're greeted by two men and I realise that both of them must have been in the front of the car. I don't know why, but it freaks me a little. I thought there had been only a driver. I guess the other guy must be some kind of bodyguard. At least both look as if they could throw some punches.  
The taller one carries a holdall, the shorter one a small bag with the hotel's logo on it. Both nod at me as a greeting and I'm beginning to wonder if security personnel is under the strict order not to speak to the band. But then the shorter man gestures with his free hand.  
“Elevator's over there.” 

Wow. A real chatterbox.

It's a well rehearsed routine for the three of them. Duffle-bag leads the way, James falls in behind him, tugging me along and Chatterbox brings up the rear. 

No one speaks on the way up to the eighth floor and the silence is beginning to get on my nerves. James seems to notice. He squeezes my hand he's still holding and smiles at me.  
Nevertheless I have to suppress a relieved sigh when we reach our floor. I've expected we'd go our separate ways now, but instead we form the same line as before and are marched right up to the door of James' suite. James slides in his key card and turns around to the two men.

“Night, guys”, he says, taking the duffle-bag from the taller man.

“Good night, James.” This time he doesn't bother to hide his grin. 

“Night”, the smaller one says and holds up his tiny bag.

“Uh, could you take that?” James asks me, pushing the door open. 

The bag is as light as it's small. “What's this?” I ask as the door clicks shut behind us.

James grins. He's dropped the duffle-bag to the floor and taking the small bag from me he upends it. A pack of condoms lands in his palm. “The merits of a PA and a five star hotel”, he smirks.

I burst out laughing.  
“So that was that text? You ordered your PA to get you condoms?”

James arches an eyebrow at my reaction and shrugs. “What? At least he knows what size to get”, he says with a grin.

That only makes me laugh harder. I step up to James until we're literally chest to chest and take the condoms from him.  
“I think you lured me here under false pretences. You said you wanted to make me scream and now you make me laugh”, I purr.

A dangerous gleam flickers in his eyes and the grin on his face would have sent Little Red Riding Hood hiding under her granny's bed.  
“Complaining, are you?”  
With one swift move he presses me against the door, trapping me there with his body, his right knee wedged between my legs, his arousal delightfully hard against my hip. I'm pinned to the door like a butterfly in a display cabinet and I love every second of it. “We've got the whole night...”, he promises, lightly biting my skin where the wide neckline of my shirt reveals a bit of my shoulder. He's already figured out that it's one of my most sensitive spots. Not that that's very hard as instantly goose bumps erupt all over my skin. “You're so responsive. I like that.” 

James ghosts his fingertips over my forearms, barely touching the downy hair standing on end, making me shudder.  
His hand slides down my arm, plucking the condoms from my unresisting fingers and throwing them onto the nearby side table.  
From there his fingers find their way to the hem of my T-Shirt, crawling up, pushing the shirt along.  
His fingertips, rough with callouses, dance over the skin of my stomach, my ribcage, the lace of my bra.  
I fidget under the feathery caress, yearning for a stronger touch. My body arches against James, rubbing against him. I want to feel more of him, need to feel this is real.

Our eyes lock on each other, the blue in his eyes again darkened with lust. He pushes the T-Shirt over my head and before it has hit the ground James has already brushed the straps of my bra off my shoulders and reaches round my back to unclasp it. 

Eager to feel his skin against mine I pull his long-sleeve up and over his head, my lips latching on the hollow of his throat. 

I can feel the low rumbling sound he makes and smile as I graze my teeth over this collar bone and kiss down to his nipple. The low rumble enhances to a soft growl as I suck the tiny nub into my mouth. Flicking my tongue over the hardened peak I reach for his belt again.  
James softly caresses the sides of my breasts, sending a tingling sensation through my entire body.  
Impatient to get him naked I yank at his belt, forcing a gasp from him.  
“Easy”, he chuckles, helping me with the obstinate buckle. 

Since we've already established that neither of us is able to get out of our jeans gracefully, I just shove the skin tight denim down James' long legs and let him step out of it while toeing off my own shoes. James hooks his thumbs in my belt loops and follows my example.  
He lets his hungry eyes roam about my body, his gaze zeroing in on my panties.  
I feel a blush creeping up my face.  
“This needs to go, too”, James states matter-of-factly and I nod my agreement as he already pushes the cotton down my hips. 

The matter of my panties settled, James hands stroke up my body again, his lips teasing mine in a lazy kiss.  
“Will you turn around for me?”

I steal another kiss before doing what he's asked. I turn my back on him, leaning my forearms against the wall next to the door.  
James runs his palm down my flank and up my spine and I shiver under his touch. 

“You're beautiful”, he says softly and I simply melt under his hands. I can hear him getting rid of his briefs and soon his hot skin slides against mine as he covers my hands with his own, his lips nibbling at the back of my neck. Then he takes a small step back to run his fingers down my spine again, lightly stroking the curve of my ass and up the insides of my thighs.  
I let out a small moan, involuntarily tilting my hips invitingly. 

James makes a small approving humming sound and I can hear the ripping of a foil package. I briefly wonder if it's possible to come from that sound alone. But James doesn't give me the time to find out as he smoothly enters me with one long stroke.  
Seems he's much quicker with condoms in the right size.

"God, I can't believe how tight you are", James groans as he pushes deeper into me. 

I press back against him. "Years of yoga", I pant.

James laughs breathlessly, momentarily loosing his rhythm and resting his forehead on my shoulder.  
“Holy fuck, woman! You're killing me”, he cackles. Then he starts moving again with shallow thrusts.

I crane my neck so I can look at him and reach behind me to grab his hip. "Come on, Hetfield. I won't break, I promise", I urge him on. 

Instantly, his whole body language changes. He grabs a fistful of my hair close to my scalp, pulls my head back until his lips are level with my ear. His other hand squeezes my breast almost painfully. "You want it rough?", he growls.

I nod my head as far as his hand in my hair allows it. "Yes", I hiss.

"Beg me."

I swallow hard. "Please, James. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

He releases my hair and instead flings his arm around my waist, forcing all the air out of my body as he crashes me against himself. "Like this?"

"God! Yes!"

His deadly pace almost causes me to lose my balance. I claw at the wall and if my nails were any longer I would surely do some damage to the ridiculously expensive wallpaper. I hear a high-pitched scream and as James clasps a strong hand over my mouth I realise it is me, wailing like a banshee.

"Am I hurting you?" he gasps without slowing down. 

I shake my head and his hand slips down, grasping my shoulder.  
"No... Don't..." I want to tell him not to stop, but words fail me.

"That's it. Come for me", he whispers as he feels me tightening around him.  
My body instantly obeys his command and for a few seconds the world around me simply stops existing.

As I come to my senses again, I'm on the floor, cradled in James' arms.  
"Hey", he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Welcome back."

"I... Wow", I try to sort the chaos in my head, remember my own name and which language to speak. "That's never happened before", I mumble.

Post-orgasmic haze or not, there's no way I could not notice the smug smile on James' lips.

"James Hetfield – Sex God, that's me", he grins.

"Huh", I snort. "That sounds just so Bridget Jones."

James throws his head back and laughs. Standing up, he offers me his hand. “Come on, let's grab a shower.”

I take his hand and get up, leaning onto the wall for support with my other hand.  
“I'm not sure I can already stand again”, I admit, much to his amusement. 

On the way to the bathroom I get an impression of the suite. Dark hard wood floor and plush cream coloured carpets, I guess my whole flat would fit into the dining and living area.  
The bathroom is larger than my bedroom and again there's a lot of dark wood and green marble. There's a large walk-in shower and James pulls me under the warm spray, wrapping his arms around me, as if to make sure I will be able to stand on my own two feet.  
“Okay?” he asks, resting his chin on my shoulder.

I sigh contentedly, leaning back against him. I marvel how he can be so passionate one minute and so tender the next. “Feels good”, I say. 

“Mmmh”, James agrees.

We stay like that for a while until I turn around in his arms and begin to kiss along his jawline, while my hand travels lower.  
"Seems the more I fuck you the hornier you get", James states with a saucy grin.

"Complaints?" I murmur, my lips now on his throat.

“Nah, but... As good as that feels, I'm not thirty any more”, James reminds me with a smile. 

“Neither am I”, I grin, “but I remember you promised something.”

“Oh yeah?”, James curls an eyebrow. “And I remember I already made you scream – and faint for that matter.”

“True”, I say, since I can't deny the obvious. “But aren't you forgetting something you wanted to do?” I grab his hand and guide it between my legs. 

“Mmmh, done that, too”, James smiles, but doesn't pull his hand away. Now it's my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Oh, that...”, James smirks as if he's just remembered. He drops to his knees, kissing every inch of my body on his way down. 

"Yeah, that..." I breathe, shivering as his hot tongue dives into my belly button.

James has almost reached my bundle of nerves, where I so desperately want him, and I close my eyes in anticipation, feeling my knees growing weak again, when all of a sudden he stops and stands again.

Disbelieving, my eyes fly open to see his devilish grin.

"I think we better take this to the bedroom", he suggests.

I cannot help myself but slap his chest. "Biest!" I exclaim, lapsing into my mother tongue, certain he gets my meaning anyway. "You can't just stop like that!"

James just laughs and shuts down the water. "Oh, the impatience of young age."

As he turns to leave the shower I can see he's already half-hard again. Maybe bedroom isn't such a bad idea after all.


	3. Chapter 3

James grabs two fluffy towels from the rack, wraps one around his waist and invitingly holds the other so I can step into it.   
Again I'm amazed how easily these little gentle gestures seem to come to him. 

“I feel like I'm being gift-wrapped”, I joke as he tucks in one corner of the towel. 

“Maybe you are”, he smiles. There are still drops of water on the inked skin of his shoulders and chest and in the soft light they sparkle like little gems. 

I run a finger along his collarbone, pushing droplets together until they form a little stream down his sternum and I follow the water down with the tip of my index finger. 

I hear a soft growl from James as I reach the barely there treasure trail, just above the edge of the towel. 

“Bedroom. Now.”

He spins me around and playfully smacks my butt. The sound is muffled by the thick towel.   
Still I let out a little yelp and a giggle. I can't help feeling flattered he's comfortable enough to act goofy around me. 

I hop onto the bed, expecting James to follow suit. Instead, he passes the bed with a simple “Stay put” in my direction. 

I have no idea what he's up to and I'm far too turned on to patiently wait for him.  
Running my hands over my own skin I quickly reach the core of my pleasure, lightly rubbing the moist flesh with just my finger pads.

"Starting without me?" James chides. He drops his towel, knowing he'll get my full attention with it.   
I keep moving my fingers while enjoying the view. "Well, you managed to get lost on your way from the en suite to the bed. I didn't know when I would see you again..."

Laughing, James joins me on the bed and pushes my hand away, his eyes full of sinful promises.

I'm quite aware of the fact that there must have been hundreds of women before me and that there will be plenty other women in his future, but for tonight he's mine as much as I'm his.  
And even if he decides to overwrite this memory with another woman tomorrow, I can remember it for as long as I like.   
The thought makes me grin happily.

"Enjoying yourself?" James asks with a grin of his own while crawling up my body.

"Tremendously."

"Good."

He bends his elbows a little, lowering his body enough to kiss my neck without putting his weight on me.   
I sigh and run my fingers through his still damp hair, slowly pushing his head down.  
James chuckles against my skin but lets himself be pushed until his lips close around one of my nipples. He sucks gently and then a little harder and this time my sigh my is a little louder.   
Carefully he catches the hardened nipple between his teeth and pulls his head up ever so lightly, eliciting a soft moan from me. 

He rests his weight on his elbows and ghosts his hands over my shoulders, my breasts and down my torso, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

As I arch up from the bed James takes the chance to get hold of my hips and wiggles further down my body.

"Did I do that?" he asks, softly stroking his thumbs over the crescent-shaped bruises on my hip bones. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

I wish he'd stop talking and put his mouth to a different use. James grins up to me, sensing my impatience.

He winks at me and finally – finally! – bows his head. I hold my breath, desperately waiting for the first contact. It's like an electric shock when his first cool breath whiffs over my heated flesh, followed by the lightest touch of his tongue. He takes his time exploring, testing how to get the strongest reaction from me.

His tongue and lips feel incredible soft, but his goatee scratches harshly over my sensitive skin. The contrast of it drives me wild.

"Good God", I exhale shakily.

James spreads my legs wider and flicks his tongue over my clit. I'm so far gone, I don't realise his right hand has left my hip until he presses his thumb into me and I can feel I'm about to come.

I reach down and put my hand on his head. His hair is too short to actually bury my finger in it, but James understands what I want. Sucking just a little bit harder he pushes in a second finger and I arch up, pressing my groin against his mouth, letting out a wordless cry as my release crashes through me like a tidal wave.

James continues to softly pleasure me with his tongue and lips until the shudders of my orgasm subside and my breathing returns to an almost normal rate.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he kneels up. 

"Now are you satisfied?" he asks as if talking to a greedy child.

I stretch lazily. "For the time being."

James grins. "Too bad. I'm not finished with you."   
And he fishes out a condom he must have slipped under the covers when he joined me on the bed.

"Sneaky", I reply, not at all averse to go another round.

He enters me swiftly but gently, setting a languid rhythm this time with deep, even strokes. It's utter bliss, almost more than just sex.

"I love the way you feel, Annika", James says softly.

It's the first time he's spoken my name and I shiver at the sound of it.

"James", I moan, wrapping my legs around him.

Lifting my hips he kneels up again, pulling me onto his lap so he can push deeper.

I unwrap my legs and plant my feet firmly into the mattress. This way I can meet his every thrust and soon James speeds up his motions, eager for his own climax. 

"Can you ... come again ... for me?" he pants.

"Touch me."

James quickly licks his thumb and I groan. The sight is incredible hot. He flashes me a saucy grin while dragging his thumb over his bottom lip in slow motion, before he reaches down to stroke me in time with his thrusts. 

It doesn't take much until I feel the muscles in my core contract, the heat spreading through my body, making my nerves tingle and leaving me with a warm, sated feeling. 

James follows close behind, his thrusts stuttering and becoming harsher at the same time. Then finally he pushes in as deep as possible and with a long, throaty groan he comes, burying his face in the curve of my neck. I can feel him trembling with the force of his release and I run a soothing hand over the straining muscles in his arms.

He takes a few harsh breaths before collapsing next to me. 

"You okay?" I ask as I wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Yeah. Hell, yes", James laughs. "Just getting old."

He reaches for a switch at the headboard and the curtains softly whir shut, blocking out the grey light of dawn. The digits on the alarm clock read 4:57. 

James curls around me and by now I'm not surprised any more he's a cuddler after sex. It just surprises me he gets like this with a one-night-stand. But I'm not going to complain. 

I have almost forgotten how nice this can feel. James' skin is warm and soft and I really like his smell and the way he seems to relax completely into the pillow.  
It's as if until now he's kept up a slightly toned-down version of his stage-persona and now I truly get to see a glimpse of the real James. 

He toys with the ring on my left hand. “Isn't hubby gonna miss you?”

I almost wince, but I'm determined to not let the bad memories spoil this night for me.

I entwine my fingers with James'. “It's just a ring, not a wedding band”, I explain and roll over onto my side to face him. I hesitate to ask, fearing to overstep, but since he brought up the subject I guess it's okay to ask back. “What about your wife? Has she given you card blanche for touring? What happens in Gelsenkirchen stays in Gelsenkirchen?”, I ask, ignoring the fact that by now, things have happened in Düsseldorf, too.

James chuckles softly at that. Then he becomes serious, studying my face as if trying to decide how much to tell me. “We're both pretty open minded when it comes to sex”, he says slowly, “when, or if, she asks – I tell her. And vice versa.”

I take a moment to think about that. “You mean... you're going to tell your wife...” I trail off, not sure I understand the full extent of his statement.

James lets his index finger travel down my front. “Every. Little. Dirty. Detail.” 

I close my eyes. “And she doesn't mind?”, I whisper. 

I open my eyes as I hear him chuckling again.   
“Not exactly, no”, he smiles. He studies my eyes again. “Is that too kinky?”

I bite my lip. My gaze travels to his straight x-tattoo. Don't drink, don't do drugs, don't fuck around, I recall. Obviously the Hetfields have found their own definition of that last one.   
I'm glad that my having sex with James won't effect his marriage. At least, not in a bad way. But I'm surprised at myself. The thought of him sharing with his wife everything we did together to turn her on actually excites me.   
“No”, I say slowly, “I think I rather like the idea.” 

James smiles. “Thought you might”, he says, playfully nibbling my at bottom lip, “you're a naughty girl.”

“Me?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“You”, James yawns, “keeping me up all night like that. If tonight's show sucks it's all your fault.”

I try in vain to stifle my own yawn and grin. “You know what? Totally worth it.”

James laughs and covers my eyes with his large hand. „Sleep“, he orders, pulling the covers up. 

I wake up to the feeling of a warm hand between my shoulder blades. I struggle to open my eyes and find James on the edge of the bed, fully dressed.  
“You don't need to get up yet”, James says softly and places a gentle kiss on my shoulder, “the room's booked for the whole day. I just wanted to thank you for last night.”   
He smooths my hair from the side of my face and kisses my cheek. “I have to go.”

***

On Monday morning, on my way to work, I stop for a coffee as usual. When I open my purse to pay for it, I find a black pick between the coins. _Metallica 2015_ it says. I smile and turn it over, even though I know what's on the other side. _Got Riff_.


	4. Chapter 4

_Early September 2015, Germany_

_Oh my God, he's found me again,_ I think with horror as I discover the anonymous letter in my mail.   
My heart is hammering in my chest and my hands have suddenly turned cold. _How? After all this time?_  
My hands are shaking as I turn the letter over and over again. _Wait a second_ , the rational side of my brain puts in, that's not his writing.

I take a closer look at the address on the envelope. The writing looks vaguely familiar, but maybe that's because it looks like an untidy version of Comic Sans.   
I take a deep breath and slit the letter open. I'm surprised to find a picture postcard from San Francisco in it. 

**Annika -  
we'll be playing two shows in Berlin next month.  
If you'd like to meet, call or text me.  
XX  
J.**

Disbelievingly I stare at the number scribbled underneath the short message. Then I giggle a little. And then a little more. “Looks like James Hetfield sent me his mobile number. I guess I could make a small fortune on ebay with this”, I say to my empty living room.   
Then the uneasy feeling creeps back. I quickly calculate the time difference, it's 9:30 a.m. in California. I grab my own mobile.

_Hey James – got your letter. How did you know my address? XX Annika._

I'm still trying to figure out what to do next, when a short bleep announces an incoming text.

_**Copied it from your ID. Sorry, didn't mean to intrude. J.** _

_Not intruding. Just didn't expect to hear from you :) I'd love to meet!_

_**Great! Give me your email & I'll send you details later on? Gotta go, Dane infested. XX** _

I grin at that last message. I guess they're at the studio working on their forthcoming album.   
Since I guess James will be busy with that for the next couple of hours, I decide to get my dinner going and have an early night. 

I usually don't check my mails first thing in the morning. First thing I do after I get up is getting the coffee machine going. I'm no use without a certain level of caffeine in my blood. But I manage to start up my laptop on my way to the kitchen.   
Sipping my coffee I sit down to scroll through my inbox. I actually squeal as I find a mail from James. I'm glad I'm living alone so nobody hears me making guinea pig noises.   
Jesus, woman, you're 34 years old. Stop acting like a freaking Justin Bieber-Fan! I chastise myself.   
I quickly read through the basic information James has provided. I already know that they'll be playing two shows. Obviously James has found a reason to arrive three days ahead, while the rest of the band will come to Berlin the day before the first show.   
I quickly do the maths in my head. That means I will have to take four days off of work. Actually, make that five days, I think, that way I'll have a day to get... well... ready.   
I take another sip of my coffee to calm my nerves and open the appendix with the hotel reservation, which proves to be almost fatal to my laptop. I really should have known better, I think as I dab up the sprayed coffee from my screen. So, I will be staying in a junior suite in a five star hotel in close proximity to the Bundestag and the seat of the chancellor. No big deal, right?   
I slowly sip the rest of my coffee before I go to the hotel homepage.  
"I so need to go shopping," I murmur, clicking through the pictures.

 

_Six weeks later_

There's a knock on the door. "Einen Moment! " I call, expecting it to be someone from the hotel staff.  
But when I open the door it's James.   
I'm so surprised I just stare at him for a split second.   
"Hi," I finally manage, opening the door wider to let him in. 

"Hey," he greets me with a warm hug and a smile that makes his eyes spark, "it's so good to see you again."

"And you! Thanks for all this," I say with a sweep of my hand that includes the whole surrounding.

"You like it?"

"Are you kidding? I've never stayed in such a nice hotel before, let alone a suite of my own."

James simply smiles at me and my stomach summersaults. He's let his hair grow out a bit since I last saw him and his natural curls come through. I like it better this way. He's wearing a black hoody and blue jeans and looks absolutely gorgeous, albeit a bit nervous. I wonder if this is going to be like our first time together, when he first initiated the sexual encounter and then turned nervous as if shying away from his own boldness.   
He wipes his hands on his thighs, confirming me in my assumptions.   
“Uhm, listen, I probably should have told you this before, but”, he now runs his hand through his hair, another nervous gesture I recognise. 

I cock my head, silently encouraging him to go on. I'm completely clueless where he's heading with this.

“But it's nothing you could discuss on the phone or through email, so... uhm... could we sit down for a minute?”

“Of course”, I say, gesturing towards the living area, embarrassed for not offering him a seat sooner.

James sinks onto the comfortably overstuffed couch, but still looks very much on edge. 

“You were going to say?”, I prompt, sitting down onto the love seat facing him.

“Look, I want you to know that all this”, and he repeats my sweeping gesture from before, “doesn't mean I expect anything from you in return, okay? I don't want you to feel obliged.”

He seems to expect a reaction from me so I nod, still not seeing what he's getting at.

“You remember our conversation about my wife?”, he gazes at me with a look I can't read. When I slowly nod again, he continues.  
“Okay, so – God, I didn't expect this to be so awkward!”, he suddenly exclaims, jumping up from his seat. It would be comical if the suspense wasn't killing me.

“For Christ's sake, James, just spit it out!”, I almost yell at him.

“Right”, he mumbles, sitting down again. His eyes study a point somewhere between his own feet and mine when he speaks. “So, Fran is here with me. She'd like to meet you.” 

I gasp in surprise, causing James to look at me again. The shock in my face alarms him and he quickly reaches out to grab my hands. Despite his obvious nervousness his hands are warm and steady, his touch reassuring.  
“Listen, if you don't want to see her, that's fine. If you don't want to see me again, that's fine, too. If you don't want to come to the show and you want to leave now, I'll understand”, he lightly squeezes my hands and I raise my eyes to meet his. His look is open, kind and at the same time hopeful. “You call all the shots here, okay?”

“Okay”, I answer with a weak voice. This meeting with James is so not going the way I have been expecting it to go.

“Just let me explain. You know Fran and I tell each other when we've had sex with some one else.”

Again, I nod. I'm beginning to feel like a nodding dog.

“When I told her about you, she got curious. She could tell immediately that this night with you was special to me.”

I am both touched and surprised by this confession. “How?”

James smiles a little sheepishly. “Well, for one thing, I haven't had sex on tour for quite some time.”

I immediately remember he didn't bring any condoms, so that statement makes sense. I even feel a bit flattered.

“And then I've never before kept the address of a one night stand.” 

I'm grateful he didn't use the word “groupie” since I still can't see myself as one, even though I know I sure acted the part.

“Why did you keep it?” I enquire. Keeping isn't really the right term, I guess, since I've never given him my address in the first place. 

James shrugs, looking very self-conscious. “I liked the idea I had the opportunity to get in touch. And I guess I wanted to keep something. Like a keepsake.”

I can hardly believe my ears. I never expected that from him. “That's why you slipped the pick into my purse? As a keepsake for me?”

This time it's James' turn to nod. I can't help but smile at that little gesture. I stroke my thumbs over the back of his hands. “It was a nice surprise when I found it”, I say gently.

Nevertheless I'm still confused.  
“I'm still not sure I understand why your wife wants to meet me, though”, I say cautiously. Her being curious about me could mean a lot of things, after all. Maybe she just wants to tear my hair out. 

James blushes. Another thing I did not quite expect from one of the world's biggest rock stars. 

“Uhm”, he clears his throat, looks at me and quickly looks away again, pulling one hand away to tug at his earlobe.   
He's driving me nuts with all his fidgeting and deferring. “Like I said, we talk about... having sex with others... and... we've been talking... for quite some time really...”

It takes a lot to suppress my impatient growl. The way he's stammering it's hard to believe this is the same man who dominates a whole football stadium full of people with just an incline of his head. “...I've told you she likes to hear about everything...”  
I think I'm beginning to see where this is heading.

“We wondered, if you would be okay... with... with her watching... us.”


	5. Chapter 5

I've agreed to meet Fran, see if we like each other enough to even consider acting out her fantasy.   
Now I'm standing in front of the wardrobe and trying to decide on an outfit.  
What do you wear when you're meeting the wife of the man you've had sex with for the first time? And does it make a difference if said wife wants you to do it again? I'm fairly certain that Hollywood has a dress code for such occasions. Hell, I bet somewhere somebody has written a book on it. 

I heave a deep sigh. I've never spent so much money on clothes before, but since I expected to spend the majority of my time here in various states of undress, my focus has been lingerie, not outerwear so much. I finally decide on tight fitting dark blue 7 for all Mankind jeans, a dusky pink silk shirt by Kaviar Gauche and tan suede flats. 

I check myself in the mirror. I never wear much make up and today's no different, just a bit mascara and a tinted lip balm. I like what I see and if she won't – well, then to hell with it. I gather my dark brown hair in a high glossy ponytail and am ready to go. 

Making sure I get to choose the table and settle down a bit, I arrive in the Peacock Alley fifteen minutes ahead of time, before I have to deal with James' wife. It's an oblong lounge, almost like a gallery, connecting the old part of the hotel with the new building. Dark brown armchairs are decorated with purple cushions and grouped around round tables of dark polished wood, at the head of the room there's a tall Grandfather's clock, done in a simple glass and gold design. The combination of tradition and modernism is beautifully done. I choose a table close to one of the tall marble pillars. I'm nervous as hell, wiping my hands on my jeans and checking the time on the Grandfather's clock every two minutes.

I recognise her immediately as she enters the cosy lounge. Tall and blonde she's no movie star beauty but a very attractive woman in her own right. She's wearing cream coloured fitted pants and a pale blue cashmere sweater that's just tight enough to accentuate her impeccable figure without clinging to her body.   
This casually elegant woman radiates a calm confidence that shows she's fought her share of battles and won most of them. I can see at first sight that Fran Hetfield is a lioness you don't want to get on the wrong side of.

As she's reached my table she gives me a warm smile. “You must be Annika.”  
I stand to greet her and she immediately pulls me into a friendly hug. “James said to look for a hot version of Snow White.” Her smile widens into a grin as she sees me blushing at her words.   
“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she says as we sit down again. 

“Thank you for not scratching my eyes out. Yet.”

Fran throws her head back and laughs. It's a raucous, very down to earth laugh that seems a bit out of place in all this art déco elegance. In this moment I decide I like her.   
“Don't worry, I won't. Shall we order tea or coffee or would you like something stronger? I remember they do some wicked cocktails.”

I can't help staring at Fran in mystified admiration. She knows I've had sex with her husband, knows he's come back for more. And yet here she sits, perfectly relaxed, chatting like we are old friends. 

Fran furrows her brow as she catches my look, obviously thinking I’m scandalised by her suggesting cocktails at this time of day.   
“Ah, sorry. I guess my sense of time is still a bit off.”

“Are you really okay with this?” I blurt, “It's just... I don’t think I could be as calm as you.”

In this moment a waiter appears out of nowhere at our table. Fran orders Earl Grey and I'm so dumbfounded that for the first time in years I order hot chocolate.   
“Would you like whipped cream or marsh mellows?” the waiter asks politely.

“Marsh mellows”, I answer without thinking and I see an amused smile flicker across Fran's face.

When we're alone again, Fran leans forward, so we can talk without being overheard from nearby tables.  
“You probably know I worked for Metallica before James and I got together. So I knew what I was getting into. I saw all of it when I was part of the road crew.   
And believe me, our marriage has been tried and tested many times over the years. Sex was always the least of our problems. But we're pretty solid where we are right now. Fifteen years ago? Not so much,” she explains. “When James asked me to marry him I told him I was okay with him having sex with other women - as long as he was being honest about it and in return didn't expect _me_ to be celibate.”   
Fran grins. “Took him a bit of getting used to, but in the end he agreed. And it's worked well for us. I truly believe this agreement helps to keep the spark alive between us.” 

The noiseless waiter arrives with our beverages and so I get the chance to stomach Fran's explanation for a moment before I answer.   
I fish a marsh mellow out of my bone china mug, thoughtfully chewing on it. I'm curious now, more than anything. 

“Can I ask you something else?”

Fran winks at me, her golden bracelets jingling as she reaches for her cup. “You can ask me anything you like, darling. This is about getting to know each other, right?”

“Is this the first time? I mean, have you ever watched James with another woman before?”

Fran softly blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip and I feel a slight shiver running over my skin, as if her cool breath has touched me. 

“No. I've been fantasising about it, but it took me some time to even mention it to James. And then we didn't really know if we dared acting on it.”   
She looks up from her cup to study my face and the look in her eyes reminds me of James. “We have to be sure we can trust the person we're doing this with. When James told me about you he said the two of you kind of clicked, not only physically, you know?” 

I nod. I've had the same feeling with him, even though we didn't exactly talk much the first time we met. But in the weeks between his letter and our second meeting we've been in touch through emails, texts and even short phone calls, and again I've had the feeling that our conversations flow easily and naturally, without much awkwardness between us. 

“He's a bit smitten with you, I think. And to tell the truth, I'm beginning to see why.”

I'm blushing beet red at Fran's words, but she just smiles kindly at me and pats my arm. “Don't worry so much, Annika. I'm still not going to scratch your eyes out. Only if you betray our trust,” she says it lightly, but I clearly understand her warning.

I incline my head, letting her know I got the message, before answering honestly, but in the same light tone. “Trust me. I have no desire to see my face in the tabloids.”

 

We smile at each other and now that it's gone, I realise there has been a slight tension between us until we've made clear where we stand. Fran's smile widens and she quickly squeezes my hand. I raise my mug in salute, knowing I've just made a new friend. 

Now that the hazardous part of our conversation is over, Fran leans back in her upholstered chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.   
“James never told me what you do for a living.”

“He doesn't know. It... uh... never came up,” I say with a grin.

Fran smirks. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn't. So what do you do?”

“I'm a mechanical engineer. I'm working on a research project at university. We research alternative fuels for car engines.”

Fran stares at me wide eyed. “You're kidding!”

I raise my eyebrows. I tend to bristle when somebody suggests a woman couldn't be in the field I'm in or do the job I do. “I assure you, I'm not kidding,” I reply a bit stiffly.

“Oh, you must never tell James! He'll just want to marry you,” Fran giggles.

“Well, thank God he's already married to you, then. I'm not going there again,” I say before I can stop myself.

“You've been married?”

I shrug. I hardly ever talk about it and even though I already like Fran a lot, I have no intention to share my past within the first hour of our budding friendship. “Yeah. Didn't work out.”

I'm saved from further interrogation as James appears in the lounge. Immediately Fran's eyes light up. James swiftly threads his way through the other tables, ignoring the stares he gets from the other guests. As he bows down to greet Fran with a tender kiss I get the strange feeling that I'm intruding on them. I can see now, why Fran can be so calm about other women. The love between them is so obvious, a blind man would feel it. You would have to be dead not to notice. “Hey, babe,” he says softly as their lips part, brushing a finger along her cheek. 

“Hey, yourself,” Fran answers just as softly, swiftly touching his chest right above his heart before he straightens up again. 

I'm certain she's doing it completely unconsciously, but the sweetness of the gesture touches me deeply. 

James comes over to me, placing a kiss on top of my head. “Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles, playfully flicking my ponytail. “I'm starving. Can we go have lunch or am I interrupting?” 

From the way both James and Fran look at me I can tell the real question is _Have you made up your mind?_ I can see the warm smile in Fran's eyes as she looks at me, even though she keeps the rest of her face carefully neutral. 

As the corners of my mouth twitch upwards in an answering smile, I can see Fran blush for the first time.   
“You're not interrupting anything. Lunch sounds like a great idea.”

“Good. Let's get our coats, then,” he says, pulling me up from my seat. 

He's holding Fran's hand on our way to the lifts, but as soon as the lift doors close behind us, he turns to me and cups my face with both his hands.   
“I've been wanting to kiss you for hours,” he says, claiming my mouth.

I'm surprised by the intensity of his kiss, in front of his wife, but I trust he knows what he's doing, so I open my lips to his demanding tongue, melting against him.  
It's just as toe-curling as I remember.

“You taste nice,” he smiles as we part.

I quickly glance at Fran, uncertain of her reaction to this display. She seems more amused than anything and even beats me to an answer. “Hot chocolate and marsh mellows,” she says, chuckling lightly. 

James sighs wistfully and winks at his wife. “See? I told you she's a woman to my taste.”


	6. Chapter 6

"Before I forget," James says and pulls a key-card from his jeans pocket, "this is the key-card for our suite. You need it for the elevator as well, otherwise it won't go up the top floor." He hands me the card.   
I smile and reach into my purse. "I was wondering why they gave me two of these," I say as I hand my spare card to James.   
"You don't mind, do you? We just thought it might ... make things easier?" Fran looks at me as if asking for permission. 

"I'm sure it will. And I don't think you will use it to strangle me in my sleep," I joke.  
As soon as I've said it I wish I hadn't, as an uneasy feeling creeps up my spine. "Just..." I bite my tongue, feeling stupid.

"What?" James asks casually as he pockets my card. 

I shake my head. "I was going to say 'keep an eye on it'. But I know you will."

James and Fran look at me as if expecting me to explain myself further, but I leave it at that and so do they. 

"You mind walking for a bit? I remember a place a few minutes from here and I feel like stretching my legs," James says as the lift stops at my floor. 

"Sure," I say.

"Okay, we'll get Max and Steve and we'll meet you in the lobby in a few?"

I'm confused. "Max and Steve?" I ask, the lift doors already closing behind me.

Quickly James reaches out his hand to stop the doors. "Uhm, yeah, they're security."

I nod, feeling stupid again. I still haven't fully realised just how different our lives are. 

 

The restaurant is within a short walking distance from our hotel but within the few minutes it takes to get here, quite a few people recognise James, two of them asking – very politely – for an autograph.   
I can hardly imagine what it's like for people with hysteric teenage fans. I guess it's a good thing most Metallica fans are grown ups who generally know the difference between public and private life.

Still, I feel slightly annoyed that it's not possible for James to just go for lunch unbothered.   
"Doesn't that bug you?" 

James shrugs. "Sometimes. But it comes with the job. What bugs me is paparazzi that go after Fran and the kids. Fortunately they hardly do nowadays." 

Fran links arms with her husband and gently bumps his hip. "You've become boring, Papa Het."

James laughs and kisses her temple. I can't help feeling a bit wistful at how comfortable they seem together. 

Lunch is a strange affair. Even though we're all hungry and the food in the restaurant is delicious, there's a tension in the air, a sexually laden air of expectation that - at least for me – makes it difficult to really enjoy the meal.   
The whole situation has a surreal feeling to it, added to by the two bodyguards at the next table and the fans that are probably still waiting outside.   
James and Fran are used to this kind of attention, but to me it's a new and unpleasant experience.

It gets even more unpleasant as we arrive back at the hotel.

"Ah, crap," Max exclaims as we turn the last corner. He's been this monosyllabic the whole time, and yet this makes him the more talk-active of the two bodyguards. "It's the paps." 

Indeed there are three photographers waiting on the other side of the street, their lenses aimed at the entrance of the hotel. “Must be someone famous staying at the hotel,” James jokes. 

I've been walking along James and Fran, now I automatically turn up the collar of my jacket and try to hang back a little. James turns to me with a lopsided grin.   
"No use," he says, "let's just get in there. Next time we'll use the other entrance," he says to Max who uses his muscled body as good as he can to shield us from the cameras.   
Steve brings up the rear and together they herd us back into the safety of the lobby. 

"Sorry 'bout that," Max says, glancing at me.

James pats his shoulder. "Nothing to be done, buddy. We can't avoid them all the time. Nothing much happened. They might not even get the pics sold."

I hope James is right. After all, there isn't much exiting about James Hetfield arriving at a hotel with his wife and three other people.  
Of course if they knew what we're planning to do... My heart beats faster at the thought.  
Not that there really *is* a plan. With Max and Steve at the next table we didn't really feel like discussing the details over lunch. But the way James kept looking at me over our table has been enough to make my knees grow weak and my mind run wild. 

The touch of his hand on my elbow almost makes me jump. "Do you want to stop by your room or are you coming right up with us?" he asks quietly. The question sounds harmless enough, but the look in his eyes is predatory. 

"Let me drop my things first, then I'll come up to you and we'll... talk," I suggest.

James raises an eyebrow and I pat his hand on my arm.

"You did say I get to call all the shots. And I think we should talk first, the three of us," I drop my voice further so that James has to lean in to hear me. "As much as I want to jump you right here."

James grins. "I guess that would be taking things a bit too far."

 

In my suite I brush my teeth, check myself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, brush my hair, tug at the straps of my bra and try to work up my courage. 

Touching up my mascara provides me with the perfect excuse to literally look myself deep into the eyes.   
_Okay sweetie, time for the truth. Do you really want this? Are you sure you're okay with her watching?_  
I stop moving and stare at myself in the mirror. _Only one way to find out._

 

I guess no one has ever asked anything as bold of me as Fran, but at the same time she seems extremely concerned about my emotional well-being.   
"I know I'm asking a lot. And I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I could just, I don't know, watch from the next room if you keep the door open."

James snorts. "No way! That would only make things worse. Fran can be a bit of a klutz," he explains.

Fran grins. "Pot, kettle!" 

I feel myself relax, their comfortable banter soothing my nerves.   
"How about this: If the door is open, you can come in, if it's closed, please don't," I suggest, "I mean, I don't want to shut you out of your own bedroom..." 

"No, I think that's a good idea." She gets up and stretches. "I'm going to take a shower. You two: have fun."  
Fran smiles at me and squeezes James' shoulder as she passes him. He grins up at her and runs his hand over her hip.   
Before Fran has fully disappeared, James has pulled me up from my seat and into his arms, kissing me hungrily, his hands already tugging at the hem of my shirt. 

Pulling my shirt up and over my head he marches me backwards into the spacey bedroom. I try to rid him off his hoodie at the same time, but James is too busy kissing my bare shoulder. His hands travel from my waist to the button of my jeans.  
I pull his hoodie up again and this time he takes the hint and pulls it over his head, unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. I run my hands over his bare chest, his shoulders and down his back. 

James hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans and pulls them down so I can step out of them. I don't trust my weak knees to hold me up so I have to lean onto him for balance.   
"Nervous?" James asks quietly, gathering me into a warm embrace. 

I nod and give him a small smile. "Stage fright, probably."

He brushes his lips over my temple. "Focus on me. And if you get really uncomfortable, we'll stop any time, okay?"

I nuzzle his neck, inhaling his scent. "I don't want to stop," I mumble against his skin. 

James takes a deep breath. "Good." He runs his hands over my back, softly squeezing my butt, pulling my body against his own. "I've been thinking about you a lot," he says softly, his lips ghosting over my ear. I’m not sure if Fran has already entered the room, but I know these words were meant for me alone. 

Remembering how sensitive his nipples are, I circle them with my fingertips until they harden into little peaks, while kissing my way from his jaw down his neck to his collarbone.   
James is still holding me pressed against him, so I can feel his erection growing as my fingers continue to tease his nipples, softly pinching and rolling them. 

I have to take a small step back so I can reach his chest with my lips, but James seems reluctant to let me go, his fingers threading through my hair, his eyes searching for mine. As our looks meet he pulls me in for a long, deep kiss that makes me forget my nervousness.   
Our first encounter has been passionate and rushed, now in the luxurious knowledge that we've got days instead of mere hours we can take our time exploring each other. And I for my part intend to take full advantage of that.

I rake my fingers through James' hair, tugging a bit at the tendrils that curl at the back of his neck. I run my nails over the soft skin of his neck, feeling goose bumps erupt in their wake. 

James' tongue pushes deeper into my mouth, his kiss growing more demanding, challenging. His thumbs stroke over the silvery lace of my bra as he grips me tighter.   
A sound between a moan and a growl comes from my own throat. I don't know what it is, but something with James seems to make it impossible for me to take my time.   
As much as I want to cherish the moments with him, want to feel and taste and touch him, the low-down on the situation is I simply *want* James.   
He breaks the kiss to arch an amused eyebrow at the feral sound I've made.   
"Your own fault," I mumble before I attack his mouth again, sucking on his bottom lip. 

"Not complaining," he answers, his voice getting raspy with lust. His strong hand in my hair he tilts my head back to lick and nibble down my neck.   
His hand releases my hair to brush the straps of my bra off my shoulders, then he reaches behind me to unclasp it. His lips latched onto one of my nipples, his hands press against my hips, pushing me down onto the bed.   
He tumbles down with me but manages not to crush me under his body. Crouching over me, he kisses his way down my body. The lace of my panties already feels damp and I hope he'll soon take them off of me.   
As if reading my mind, James hooks his thumbs into my panties and slowly peels them off my hips, inhaling sharply at the sight he reveals.   
"Nice," he murmurs, softly brushing his calloused fingertips over smooth skin and the neatly trimmed small strip of hair. 

I moan and arch into his touch, desperate for more.

He places a small kiss right beneath my belly button, then kneels up with a growl, unbuckling his belt.   
Over his shoulder I can see Fran lounging on the chaise in front of the picture window overlooking the city, the afternoon light already getting gloomy behind her.

James pushes his jeans down along with his underwear, his hungry gaze never leaving my body. He has to stand up to get rid of his remaining clothes, but it only takes a second before he's back on the bed.   
Again he kisses my stomach, round my belly button, dipping his tongue in and diving further south, but before his mouth reaches my mound he effortlessly flips me over and pulls me up on my knees.  
His teeth graze the skin of my shoulder. "Okay with you?"

"Less talking, James," I pant and he chuckles. 

I gasp as he enters me. Of course I remember he's big, but to feel him fill me so perfectly again beats every memory. 

I can feel Fran's eyes on me but instead of making me feel uncomfortable or self-conscious like I had expected, her look feels like an additional pair of hands caressing me, pleasuring me.   
I never knew I had an exhibitionistic streak, but then I've never considered myself a groupie, either. It seems that the Hetfields have got a talent to bring out new sides of my sexuality.

Tilting my head back I arch into a hollow back, slightly changing the angle of James' thrusts. I groan softly and James hands stroke up from my hips over my flanks to my shoulders. He moulds his torso against my back, lightly biting the skin where my neck joins my shoulder. I let my head fall between my arms again, pressing my back against him, wanting all the skin to skin contact I can get. I grin at myself as I realise I've just combined sex and yoga. From now on I'll probably never be able to do majariasana without thinking of sex with James.

"Feel good?" he breathes into my ear. 

"Oh yes, so good," I groan. I can hardly remember feeling so turned on in my life. 

James changes his position behind me and pulls me with him, so that I'm now sitting in his lap, one of his arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind, pressing me against his chest while his other hand glides down my stomach and between my legs. 

"Look at Fran," he purrs into my ear. "Can you see how much we turn her on? How watching you effects her?"

I nod, though it's difficult for me to actually keep my eyes open. The figure of Fran is almost completely hidden in the shadow, but I think I can see she has slipped one hand inside her robe. 

The thought of her pleasuring herself while she's watching us, her fingers imitating the movements of James' fingers on me, makes me shiver and groan. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against James' shoulder. "Please, James, I'm so close," I whisper.

"Yeah? What do you need? Tell me," his own voice is shaky and thick with lust.

I can't think straight any more, the nails of my left hand are digging into his thigh while I'm clutching at his arm with my right. "I... just... more!"

James lets out a sound somewhere between a snort and a groan and I can feel as well as see the muscles in his thighs straining as he pushes harder into me, his right hand slipping from my sweaty shoulder to my breast, squeezing gently. 

"God! Yes! James!" I press back against James, taking him as deeply as I can and shudder into a mind-blowing orgasm. 

"Fuck," James growls as I clench around him. He presses his hands against my shoulder blade, pushing me forward so I land on my hands and knees again. James grabs my hips and it only takes two, three thrusts, so deep he's hitting my cervix almost painfully until he, too, comes with a violent intensity, a hoarse groan escaping his throat. 

I force my eyes open as I sense movement in the room. Fran ghosts her fingertips over my hair as she passes the bed. Seeing my eyes open she blushes and smiles, leaving without a word. 

I move so I can lay my head on James' chest, his hand instantly curling around my waist. He smiles and slowly opens his blue eyes, still slightly darker than usual.   
"Are you okay?" 

I nod, placing a small kiss to his chest. "What about you?" I've only just realised that I've never thought about how James might feel about this whole business and I feel bad for being so inconsiderate. 

I can feel James trembling and as I look up slightly alarmed, I can see he's shaking with silent laughter. "Oh, Annika, you truly are the limit!" he cackles, hugging me close. "I get to have sex with an extremely hot chick. And not only is my wife okay with that, she gets turned on by it, she actually *wants* me to do it. Now, how does that make me feel?" He furrows his brow with ostentation for a second, then a huge grin spreads on his face. "Yeah, I guess I'm all right."


	7. Chapter 7

I had almost forgotten about the paparazzi, telling myself their pics weren't spectacular enough to get published. As I turn on my phone the next morning I can see I've got a message from my best friend.  
  
_Minx! You NEVER told me you know James Hetfield! So that's what's behind your trip to Berlin. I had been wondering... And his wife, too???? You know you've got to tell me EVERYTHING when you're back, right? I mean it!_

I can almost hear her squeaking as I read her text. The thought makes me grin while I click on the link she's sent me. Obviously the pics weren't too boring to be bought by Germany's biggest tabloid.  
"Metallica frontman James Hetfield arrives at the hotel with wife Francesca (far right) and an unknown dark-haired beauty. Metallica will be performing live at the O2 World on Friday and Saturday. Both shows are already sold out." 

I enlarge the pic. Despite the distance from which it's been taken, it's a close-up of the moment James turned to speak to me. I feel relief washing through me. While James is clearly recognisable, and Fran's in half-profile, I'm facing away from the camera. Only someone who knows me really well could recognise me. 

Still looking at the pic I almost jump out of my skin as the hotel phone starts ringing. 

"What if I told you I want you naked and in my bed in two minutes?" James sounds very upbeat this early in the day.

"I'd probably lie and say I get hundreds of these calls every day. Anyway you'd have to wait your turn, 'cause I'm still sweaty from my yoga practice and I haven't even had breakfast."

I can hear his grin down the line. "Okay, then I'll order up breakfast. And I want you naked in my shower in two minutes." 

My feet are already moving towards the door as I'm putting down the receiver. 

The shower's already running as I enter the bathroom of the presidential suite. Steam is fogging up the wide glass door, but I can still see the outlines of James' body. I quickly shed my sweatpants, tank-top and underwear and step into the large shower.  
James instantly pulls me close, his wet skin slick against my own.

"Where's Fran?" I ask. 

James is already nibbling on my neck, licking the salt of my dried sweat off my skin, his large hands gripping my shoulders.

"She's spending the day at the spa," he playfully nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.  
"Disappointed?"

"That I'll have you all for myself?" I grin while running my hands over the curve of his ass. "Not bloody likely."

James smiles. "What are you going to do with me, then?"

Instead of an answer, I lean in, so that my body brushes against his and ghost my lips over his mouth. 

James gives a soft hum of appreciation. He closes his eyes and lets me explore his chest with my hands and my mouth. He combs his fingers through my wet hair, pulling me closer under the hot spray. "Didn't you say you were all sweaty? Let's get you cleaned up," he says quietly and I can hear him opening a bottle. 

My lips are caressing the cross tattooed on his sternum as I can feel his fingers massaging my scalp.

I close my eyes as James gently turns me around and takes his time washing and rinsing my hair. I almost turn into jelly as he reaches for the conditioner. 

“Why are you being so nice?” I murmur.

James chuckles and I can feel the sound vibrating against my back. “Maybe I want to lull you so I can have my wicked way with you?” he suggests. 

“Is that a promise?” I can feel he's already half-hard and I lean back a bit more so I can rub myself against him. 

“Tut-tut! I'm not finished cleaning you up,” he chides, gently pushing me forward again. He shuts down the water and reaches for the shower gel. 

His hands on me are sweet torture as he goes on about his task lathering my shoulders, arms and back, his touch gentle but strictly non-sexual. He runs his hands over my butt and I almost yelp as he also slips his fingers between the cheeks, but his touch doesn't linger. I can sense him crouching down behind me as his hands glide down my legs.  
When he's reached my ankles he gently tugs, indicating for me to turn around again. I comply and the sight of an obviously aroused James Hetfield on his knees in front of me is anything but lulling. 

As if reading my mind he grins up at me with a devilish gleam in his eyes. But apart from that he doesn't change his tactics. He lifts up my foot and I have to lean on his shoulder for balance as his touches make me giggle. 

“Ticklish, are you?” he smiles, letting go off the one foot to reach for the other. 

“I think I've never had anyone wash my feet for me,” I grin. 

“No? What about painting your toe-nails?” He delicately pulls on one of my toes and I wonder where he's picked up that massage-technique.  
“When I was a teenager, at slumber parties,” I reply. 

James doesn't seem quite satisfied with my answer.  
I can't help wondering if he paints Fran's toe-nails on a regular basis. 

_Or maybe Kirk's._ The thought makes me giggle again. 

James gives me a stern look from his crouched position and firmly puts my foot down again. “You don't seem to take the matter of personal hygiene very seriously,” he states with mock disapproval.

For a moment I'm tempted to tell him that painted toe-nails are hardly a matter of hygiene, but instead I try to look appropriately chastised. 

Squeezing more shower gel onto his palm, James starts lathering up my legs and this time his touches become teasing as he runs his hands over the insides of my thighs and then turns towards my hips at the last moment. 

“You're such a tease,” I protest but James just grins at me, rubs his soapy hands over my stomach and stands again, cupping my breasts in his hands. 

“All cleaned up now?” he murmurs, his lips caressing my ear. 

“Hmmm, I think you forgot an important part...”

“Really? We can't have that.” 

He turns on the water again and as the lather is washed off my skin his right hand travels down my stomach again, his thumb momentarily dipping into my belly button.

I let out a low moan and James catches my bottom lip between his teeth in a playful mix between a gentle bite and a heated kiss. 

He uses his bodyweight to press me against the tiles and with the hot water from the shower head and his heated skin pressed to my front, the tiles feel extra-cold against my back.  
But as his fingers reach their goal all thoughts about cold tiles flee my mind.  
James' lips leave mine and follow the path of his hand. 

I rest the back of my head against the slippery wall and blindly reach out for something to hold on to as I can feel James licking and nibbling his way down my body.  
When he's on his knees again he lifts up my left leg and hooks it over his shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly before he lowers his head and I can feel his tongue on me. 

I bury my fingers in his hair, pulling him against me harder. I breathe out his name and James looks up at me, his eyes dark and intense. Not breaking eye-contact he let's his hand slip from my thigh until he can slide his thumb inside me. 

My whole body trembles with the intensity of my feelings. Fisting my hands in his hair I come with a hardly suppressed scream.

James breathes one last delicate kiss onto my now over-sensitive clit, then smoothly gets up again, letting my leg slip from his shoulder to his hip. 

He doesn't say anything but his eyes seem to ask for permission and I pull him in for a passionate kiss in means of an answer, letting our bodies take over.  
I'm glad that we've had enough time for preparations beforehand, so that we don't have to deal with condoms this time. 

James enters me with one long stroke and I gasp into our kiss. He slips his arm under my leg, lifting it further. It's a good thing I'm still stretched from my yoga session, so my leg easily slides into the crook of his elbow, allowing James to push even deeper. His kiss becomes harsher, his teeth scraping over my bottom lip. Then he rests his forehead against mine, his breath coming out in short gasps and low groans. My fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulder and hip where I hold on for dear life.  
Firmly trapped between James and the shower wall I lift my other leg and wrap it around James' hip. Instantly he grabs my thigh, his strong hand closing like a vice on my slippery skin. The new position changes his angle exactly the way I wanted and it only takes a few more stroke before I can feel the muscles of my core clenching.  
“Yes... James,” I breathe. I believe I can feel every single one of my nerves tingling and for a few seconds I'm hyper aware of all the sounds and smells in the room, the water hitting our bodies, the feeling of James' wet skin sliding against my own, the way his muscles tense and then relax as he climaxes with a deep groan. 

We remain entwined with each other while we wait for our breathing to calm down again. After a minute or two James gently lowers me to the ground again. 

We kiss lazily until the water runs too cold to ignore any longer. 

“Didn't you say something about breakfast?” I ask with a grin while I reach for a towel. 

James laughs softly. “I bet the coffee's cold by now.”

 

After breakfast – with hot coffee, since the thoughtful staff have served it in an insulated coffee pot - we cuddle in bed. 

I tell James about the message from my friend and that the pap pics have indeed been published. 

“I really don't think I could live with that kind of attention all the time,” I confess, snuggling up to James' chest. 

"So let's pretend you were a celebrity. What would they write about you?"

"Unknown dark-haired beauty?" I try to joke.

James tightens his arms around me. "You're annoyingly secretive, you know that?"

"And you're annoyingly stubborn." I sigh and turn around, trying to wriggle out of his embrace. 

James exhales deeply and kisses the back of my head.

“Listen, I know we've only known each other for like two days and two dozens phone calls. But I can feel you carry a lot of baggage. And trust me, I know what can happen if you don't deal with it.” 

When I don't react he quietly goes on. “I'm only trying to be your friend. I wished you'd trust me.”

“I do not trust easily,” I finally say.

James chuckles softly. “Yeah, I gathered as much. You let me fuck you into next week, but you won't talk to me.”

With another deep sigh I reluctantly give in. “Okay. Ask away.”

"What's with your accent? It's not German, but I can't quite place it. Scotland? Ireland?"

I almost sigh with relief. That question seems harmless enough. In fact, I've been surprised he hasn't asked me about my accent yet. Most people do. "It's Irish. I used to live in Dublin for a few years. Worked for an Irish company after getting my degree at Trinity."

“Fran says you've been married.”

Right. The easy part is over all to quickly. "Yeah, I've been married. Got divorced six years ago and that's all I'm going to say about it."

"Fine. Have it your way." James releases me from his embrace and rolls over onto his back. 

As I make to get up he quickly grabs my hand and pulls me back down. “What about your family?”

“James...”

“You said I could ask.”

I didn't expect him to open up my deepest wounds with two sentences, though. Facing away from him, I answer. “My family got killed in a car crash when I was twenty. To be exact, my parents were killed in the crash, my younger sister died a few days later in hospital.”

Even fourteen years later the memory still makes me shiver. Instantly James wraps himself around me. “Fuck. I'm sorry,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder.

“Yeah.” Even fourteen years later I still don't know what to answer to that simple sentence.

I expect him to drop the matter like most people do when I tell them the blunt truth, but James keeps on asking.  
"Where were you when it happened?"

"I was with a friend. I'd moved out to start university a few months earlier."

"Did you ever go to counselling after that?"

"No," I turn towards him. "Look, James, I appreciate your concern, but not everyone is that traumatised by the loss of their family that they become potential alcoholics or drug addicts, okay?"

"'course not. Some just leave their home country or rush into marriages that work out so well they refuse to talk about it even six years after the divorce," he quips.

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitch with a small smile at his dry comment. "Seriously, why should you care so much?" I wonder.

James gently turns my face with a thumb on my chin. "For me, the question is: Why don't you care more about yourself?"

I don't know what to say to that so I just stare at James, into gentle blue eyes and I can feel a crack appear in my wall of defence. I'm not prepared for this. I've expected us to have a lot of spectacular sex, I'd watch two great live shows and then we'd go our separate ways again.  
But it seems that on top of all that James is determined to make me face my demons, too.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey,” James cups my face in his hand, his thumb gently brushing my cheek bone. “Why the troubled look?”

For a moment I close my eyes and lean into his touch until I realise that this is exactly what's unsettling me. I feel like I can trust James and I can see now that I've been longing to have that feeling again for a long time. On the other hand I'm afraid that if I open myself to him, I'll end up hurt. It's an irrational fear since I'm deeply convinced James would never intentionally hurt me. And yet it's incredibly hard to let my guard down even a little bit.

James softly nudges my nose with his fingertip, making me open my eyes again.

I sigh. "I didn't expect you to get under my skin like this," I say and I can hear the complaint in the tone of my voice.

James laughs softly. "Oh, good! About time someone did, I think."

His comment makes me frown. "Why? Why can't you just leave me be?" Jesus Christ, now I'm almost whining like an eight-year-old.

"Because that wouldn't help you," James answers calmly.

"You don't need to 'help' me. I'm fine."

"The fuck you are. You wouldn't try to treat me like a sex toy if you were." There's no venom in his voice but his words hit me right in the guts.

"Excuse me?"

"Like I said. You let me fuck you, but you won't talk to me. I can bring you off but ideally you could just store me away in the drawer or discard me like a used condom afterwards.” 

“That is not true!” I protest, punctuating each word with a blunt finger to his chest. 

James sighs and gets a hold on my hand. “Annika, I may not know what exactly brought you there, but I know where you're standing. I've been there, too. I tried to drown my emotions in alcohol so I didn't have to face them. *You've* buried them so deep inside you've even half convinced yourself they don't exist. But believe me, that only works for so long. You're keeping everyone at arm's length because you're scared shitless if you allow yourself to get attached you'll end up hurt one way or another.” 

It's all I can do not to jump up and run away from James. It's unnerving how precisely he can tell what's going on inside me. For years I've been able to control how much other people know about me, always revealing just enough to satisfy their human curiosity, to be able to interact socially, but never so much that they really knew *me*. Ever since the death of my family, and particularly after my failed marriage my innermost feelings have been a matter between me and myself, thank you very much. 

“And when exactly did you turn into Phil Towle?” I ask, trying to cover my shock with sarcasm.

“I'm not a therapist, but talking to some-one like Phil might actually be a good idea.”

I try a seductive smile and roll on top of him and James' hand instantly comes to rest on the small of my back to steady me. “Oh yeah? But I'd never do something like this with some-one like Phil,” I breathe, placing small kisses along his jawline.

James sighs. “And now you're trying to use sex as a distraction so you don't have to talk about yourself any more.” 

My smile widens into a grin as I can feel his body beginning to react. “It's working, isn't it?” I tease and wriggle a bit more. 

James lets out a growl that seems to be half frustration and half arousal while rolling us over so that now he's lying atop of me. 

I've expected him to take me quickly, maybe even a bit roughly in his frustration, but he doesn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. He takes his time stroking my skin, the insides of my arms, the outlines of my face, the side of my neck.

Too late I realise that not only has James seen through my plan right from the start, he's even turned it against me. There's nothing of the easy playfulness we've shared so far, no greedy passion this time. Instead he's stroking away my defences with each caress, each butterfly kiss, leaving me feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable and terrified. "Bastard," I whisper against his skin. 

James softly threads his fingers through my hair. "Look at me," he coaxes and I oblige. His eyes are warm and caring but determined at the same time. "Do you want me to stop?"

I shake my head. "No, God damn you." 

Gently, he smiles down at me. "Keep your eyes open. Keep looking at me," he murmurs against my lips. I sigh as he enters me slowly. This is not having sex, this is making love and I can feel tears pricking in my eyes.  
I can't remember ever feeling so many conflicting emotions at the same time.

"I hate you, James Hetfield," I breathe as I arch up against his body.

And there's the jaunty, playful gleam back in his eyes. He softly nips my bottom lip with his teeth and smiles. "Somehow, I don't believe you."

I burrow my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. "Swear to God," I murmur while I card my fingers through his longish curls. 

James moves slowly, gently, his hands framing my face and his eyes never leave mine. As the first tear falls, he gently brushes it away with his thumb and bows down to give me a slow, deep kiss. 

I really don't want to give in to him, don't want to let on how much I crave his tenderness, but once again my body betrays me. It responds to James' every move, every gentle touch, every whispered word.  
“Let go, Annika, you're safe with me”, James says quietly, caressing my face with his fingertips and holding my eyes with his. 

And it's as if all the fight has left my body, as if the years of trying to smother what's been screaming inside me have finally used up all my energy and I simply fall apart under the impact of my climax.  
What I haven't been expecting is that James Hetfield would be there to gently pick up the pieces.

He simply wraps me up in his arms and lets me cry for what feels like hours. I've never been one to cry in front of others but I don't seem to be able to stop now.  
Finally, when no more tears come, James presses a kiss to my forehead and hands me a box of tissues from the night stand. Then he gets up to fetch me a glass of water. "There," he says, slipping back under the covers with me. "Seems you needed to get that out of your system."

"Sorry," I sniffle and to my surprise James rolls his eyes with a grin.

"Stop apologising, Annika. I told you I want to be your friend. To be honest, I feel rather honoured."

"But I got snot on you," I sheepishly reply, wiping at his skin with a tissue.

James laughs. "Yeah, that's what friends do, right? Snot and all. Who knows, one of these days you may even talk to me."

There's a moment of silence, but it isn't uneasy. "I may," I finally answer truthfully. "But right now I think I'd like to be alone for a bit. Is that okay?"  
The last thing I want is for James to feel rebuffed after offering me his friendship.  


I needn't have worried.  


"Bit overwhelming and scary, huh?" he says with a soft smile and I realise that he's probably gone through similar episodes during rehab. 

"Yeah, a bit."

James pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. "You know where to find me", he says, releasing me from his arms.

 

 

The letter is lying on the side table just inside the door as I enter the suite. The sight of it makes my skin crawl. I recognise the writing even before I decipher the words. 

_No!_  
All of my being is screaming with the word. I can't believe that a five star hotel, in close proximity to the Bundestag no less, would be so lax in security as to allow a stranger to trouble one of their guests, even if only with a letter. And yet there it sits, ugly and menacing like the worlds biggest tarantula.

On weak legs I take the two steps towards the small table.  
“Mrs O’Regan” it says on the envelope.  
_No!_ My mind yells, the word echoing in the emptiness of my soul.  
I pick up the letter and open it. It’s just one word, written in bold, angry letters. _Mine_.  
“No,” I whisper. 

I curl my fingers into a fist, crumpling the letter in the process. “No!”  
Staring down at the piece of paper clenched in my fist I can feel something shift inside me as rage blossoms up, overtaking the fear rapidly. 

When I arrive in the lobby I'm brimming with anger.  
I smack the crumpled letter on the counter of the reception desk. The girl on duty seems hardly older than seventeen and she shrinks back from me.

"How on earth did this get into my suite?"

"Uhm," she stammers, picking up the envelope with slightly trembling fingers, "there was a gentleman..."

The manager, obviously equipped with a delicate sense of trouble, appears behind the desk. "Is there a problem?" 

I pluck the envelope from the girl's hand and push it under his nose, still fuming. “Would anyone care to explain how this message, that is clearly *not* addressed to me,” I stab my finger at the name on it, almost tearing a hole in, “got into my suite?”

“I think we should talk about that in my office,” he says, waving the girl to follow.

I know he wants to avoid a scene in front of other guests and I'm fine with that.  
The girl looks terrified as I walk past her, knowing her mistake could cost her her job. I almost feel sorry for her. But the thought what her mistake could cost me makes me feel sick. 

“Well?” I demand as soon as the manager has closed the door behind us.

The girl looks from me to the manager and as he nods she says, “There was this gentleman. He said he had an urgent massage for a Mrs O'Regan. And I told him we didn't have a guest with that name. And he said that she was probably using a different name since she was travelling with the Hetfields. And he showed me a photo of you, Miss. And since Mr and Mrs Hetfield used an alias for registration, I assumed...”

“Well, you assumed wrong,” I interrupt coldly. “Did it never occur to you that one uses an alias to avoid getting attention from strangers or mysterious messages? Did he bribe you or are you just plain stupid?”  
The girl is now on the brink of tears. I know I'm acting like a complete bitch. Fear has always made me lash out. 

The manager tries to calm me down. “Please, Miss Rohde. I'm sorry there's been a mistake. Please accept our apologies.” 

I ignore him and keep staring at the girl. “Did you give him my name?”

She shakes her head, obviously unable to speak without breaking down in tears. 

“I hope that's the truth.”

Since I've been ignoring him, the manager now decides to talk to the girl. “That will be all Miss Schmitz. Take the rest of the day off.”

She nods and flees the office.

“Please let me offer you my apology again, Miss Rohde. I assure you something like this will not happen again. Miss Schmitz is one of our apprentices, it's only her second day at the reception desk.”

“Then I suggest she re-thinks her career choice,” I reply curtly. Turning on my heel, I storm out of the office. 

I blindly rush through the foyer, not paying particular attention to other people until I literally bump into somebody blocking my way. Automatically I take a step back and slightly to my left, bringing my hands up ready to defend myself.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I exhale and let my hands sink, as I recognise Steve with Fran at his elbow.

“Annika! What's the matter with you? You look upset. You didn't get into a fight with James, did you?"

Her question makes me smile. "Gracious, no. He's such a sweetie I wouldn't know how to get into a fight with him," I declare, realising it's true. 

Fran lets out her raucous laugh and I think I can even see Steve's lips twitch with a smile. "I could give you a few hints on that," Fran grins and links her arm with mine. "So what's the matter then?"

Obviously, being a mother of three and wife to an ex-alcoholic husband, Fran is equipped with an equally fine-tuned sense for trouble as the hotel manager.

"Nothing, really, just an apprentice at the reception desk who'd be better employed as a scullery maid," I grumble. 

"That's some pretty fine reflexes you've got," Steve says, nodding at my hands, "you've ever done any training?"

"Yeah, for a while I was pretty much into self defence. I let it slack, though. I think I should get back to it."

“Yeah? Any particular reason?” Fran probes.

I try to shrug it off. “You just never know, do you?”


	9. Chapter 9

"I thought you'd spend the day at the spa?" I ask as we enter the lift.

"That's right. I guess you could say I'm in between treatments," Fran smiles.  
She lowers her voice conspiratorially, even though it's just the three of us inside the lift. “Don't tell James, but the kids are throwing a party back home. I just wanted to check if the house's still standing.”

I laugh. “Do you think they'll even hear the phone? And what do you tell James?”

Fran gives me a wicked grin. “I was rather counting on you to distract him. And I'm not going to call. You can log onto the security system from our I-pad. I'm just going to have a peek.”

As the lift stops on the top floor, Steve remains behind. “I'll pick you up in ten minutes,” he reminds Fran and presses the button to his own floor. Fran nods and grabs my hand, pulling me with her into the suite.

“Jamie?” she calls and I smile. It's the first time I hear her using this endearment. When she doesn't receive an answer, Fran raises her brows. “Either he's sleeping or he's got his headphones on.” 

One look into the bedroom confirms her diagnosis. James is lying sprawled on the bed, one arm across his eyes, the other stretched over the second pillow.   
Fran grins. “Worn out already?”  
I blush but she just winks at me. “That makes things easier. There's no way he's going to wake up any time soon. Lars swears he's witnessed him sleeping through an entire Megadeath rehearsal once.”   
“You're sure that wasn't just to piss off Dave Mustaine?” I grin and Fran giggles.  
“You're right, that might have been part of it.”  
The I-pad is lying on the nightstand and as Fran goes to pick it up she takes a moment to watch James sleep. Softly she lays a hand on his chest and I think I can see a smile flicker across his relaxed face.   
On her way out, Fran pulls the door half-closed. Raising her free hand she crosses her fingers. “Let's hope we've still got a house to come home to,” she grins.  
“What if you don't?” I grin back. 

Fran sighs melodramatically. “I don't want to think about that. Now, let's see... No broken windows, that's a good start... No dead bodies floating in the pool... Is that Cali? Tsk, really you should think she knows where the cameras are...” Fran looks up and grins. “Well, let's hope no-one ends up pregnant and I guess we can call it a successful night.”

“You seem pretty relaxed about that.”

Fran smiles. “They are pretty sensible kids, pretty sensible for teenagers that is. I think I can trust them.”

“And James doesn't?”

“He knows we've got smart kids and we've tried to raise them to be responsible human beings and not spoiled brats. But he can get a bit overprotective, especially with the girls. He almost got a heart attack when he found out Cali has a boyfriend. So, yeah, he probably wouldn't be sleeping this peacefully if he knew about that party.”

I nod. 

Fran cocks her head to one side. Her eyes are of a darker shade of blue than James', but her gaze is no less intense as she scrutinises me. “You're sure you're okay? I don't know, something seems off.”

I shake my head and try a smile. “Ghosts of the past,” I say, trying to make it sound light, “I'd rather not go there twice in one day.”

Fran still looks at me. I can see that between James and herself it can't be easy for the Hetfield kids to get away with any bullshit. She seems about to say something when there's a soft knock on the door.   
Saved by the bell, I think, trying not to look too relieved.  
Fran checks her watch. “That'll be Steve. Really, wellness can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” she grins. 

“Speaking of which,” Fran says with a wink, “Lars and the others will be arriving tomorrow morning, so I don't think we'll see much of James until dinner time,” she lowers her voice to a stage whisper as she opens the door, “Wanna come shopping with me? Please? It'll be so much more fun. Steve is great, but such a bore when it comes to make-up and lingerie. Hi, Steve.”

“Really, Fran, one day I'll sue you for emotional abuse,” Steve deadpans. 

He presses the button for the ground floor and I get into the lift behind Fran, pressing the button for my floor.

“Oh sorry,” Fran says, turning to me. “For some reason I thought you'd stay with James.”

“I need to make a few calls,” I answer. Luckily there's no time for more explanations as the lift already stops on my floor.  
The cursed letter is still in the pocket of my sweatpants and as much as I'd like to burn it, I know I mustn't.   
Dara has found me again and I need to inform the police. To what avail, I'm not sure. 

After I have finished my calls, I pace around the suite restlessly. I think about taking a bath but find I’m not in the mood. I pick up a book, opening it at a random page, but I can’t concentrate on reading. As I start on the same sentence for the fourth time I shut the book and throw it on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh.   
I decide to change out of my yoga outfit, thinking to go for a walk.   
But what if he’s still around? I stop. Do I really want to give him that power again? I ask myself. Basing my decisions on what he might do or think? I finish dressing and reach for my key card with a slightly trembling hand.

I hesitate as I step into the lift. Finally I decide to go up instead of down.

“Hey,” James murmurs sleepily as I crawl into bed with him, “didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Turns out, I don’t want to be alone after all,” I confess, “Hold me?”

James opens his arms for me and I snuggle up to his chest, taking comfort in his warmth. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and I can feel James running his fingers through my hair.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asks after a while.

"It's not so much that anything's wrong," I finally say, raising my head to look at him. "It’s more me, being envious."

"Of what?"

"You and Fran. The love you share. I wish I could find something like that for myself."

For the first time, James avoids my eyes. When he looks up again with a sigh, I can see years of pain and regret. "Fran's seen me at my worst. She's literally saved my life, and more than once. A lot of the time I feel like a fraud and that I don't deserve her love."

I squeeze him lightly and smile. "Obviously she disagrees. She even keeps checking for your heartbeat."

"You noticed that, huh?"

I nod. James rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Obviously he's not entirely comfortable talking about it, so I'm willing to just leave at that. But then James sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "Like I said, she's saved my life a couple of times. There were two occasions when she couldn't feel my heart beating. It still was, obviously, but only just. Although, in my defence, the second time wasn't my fault."

"The first time was?"

"Uh, yeah. That was right before rehab. Fran found me past out from drinking, about to choke on my own barf." 

"Ugh!" I pull a face and James grins ruefully.

"I know. That was the time when she threw me out of the house," he nods in confirmation as he sees my incredulous look, "she told me I was a bad influence on the kids and I was definitely not some-one she wanted to be around.   
Ultimately, that was what finally made me see sense.   
I realised that I was about to destroy everything good in my life. Jason had left the band and to a large extend that was my fault. I still believe it was the right decision for Metallica and I hope it worked out okay for Jason as well, but at that point the band was falling apart. And now I was driving away my family as well. And I knew that would be the death of me.  
You see, if Fran decided to leave me now, it wouldn't destroy me. I'd be heart-broken, but I'd live. But at that time in my life, I knew without her and the kids I would be dead within a year. So I knew then I had to get my shit together. And I had to admit to myself I couldn't do that on my own, I had to get help.” 

There's a prolonged silence while I digest what he's told me. James gives me a quick sideway glance and slightly opens his arms again. I rest my head on his chest, realising he needs the physical contact as much as I do. Instantly he starts playing with my hair again. "The second time?"

"I managed to dislocate my kneecap playing basketball with Castor. The medics had to drug me up to the eyeballs with Propofol to set the knee. Despite the pain I fought to stay conscious." 

"Propofol's the stuff that killed Michael Jackson, right?"

"Yeah, slows down the heartbeat. Apparently they had to use a lot to fully knock me out, there were a few seconds where they couldn't feel my pulse. Fran almost panicked, said she thought that after all the shit I've put her through she thought she'd lose me 'cause of my stupid clumsiness. Ever since that day, she likes to check I'm still alive every now and then.   
Which reminds me, do you know if Fran checked on the kids? I know they had some kind of party planned." 

I raise my head in surprise. "You know about that?"

James chortles and rolls his eyes. "I don't know how stupid they think I am. I mean, what would you have done at their age if your parents left the continent? And besides, Marcella can't keep a secret for more than ten seconds, plus she's the world's worst liar," he says fondly.

The love for his children is written all over his face as he speaks of his youngest and I smile. “Fran logged onto your security system and the house's still standing. Her only fear was that somebody could get knocked up, I think,” I try to hold back my grin as I wait for his reaction.

To my surprise, James waves it aside. “Cali's on the pill – don't tell Fran I know that – so she should be safe. Castor's a lot more self-confident than I was at his age, but luckily he's also a lot smarter. He knows what to do – and what not. And Marcella isn't even dating yet. Nah, they're fine.”

“Don’t you want to have grandchildren?”

“Oh, I do. A whole lot of them,” James laughs, “but not right now. My kids still have some growing up to do. And I’m not feeling very grandfatherly yet.” And with that he lets his hands travel down my back and over the curve of my butt, pulling me a little closer, his mouth seeking mine. 

His lips are soft and warm and all my worries and dark thoughts seem to evaporate. James softly runs his tongue over my bottom lip and I willingly open my lips for him. 

James' fingers dig deeper into my skin, kneading my butt, as our kiss quickly heats up. 

I can feel his cock growing between us and I move a little so I can press one leg between James', increasing the friction for him. 

He moans softly into our kiss and runs his fingers down the crack of my ass.   
"Do you like it like this?" he whispers, gently pressing a fingertip against my opening.

"I don't know," I reply, my heart suddenly beating much faster.

"You... don't know?" He stops moving, hands stilling, his eyes seeking mine.

"I've never tried. Dara, my ex-husband, he... he must have been the only young man in Ireland not particularly into sex. And after him... it's nothing I'd like to try with a casual acquaintance, you know." 

“*You* married someone not particularly interested in sex? I mean, don't get me wrong, but you're not exactly what I'd call frigid.”

“I'm not sure that's a nice thing to say,” I snort, “but, yeah, that was one of the reasons we weren't very well suited.”

"And I am a casual acquaintance?" James asks, sounding rather amused.

Despite my nervousness, the question makes me laugh. "I don't know what label to put on our relationship, but casual?" I lightly kiss his lips, "I think we've surpassed that."

James doesn't respond, but gently smooths my hair back so he can kiss the side of my neck. 

"James?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not saying I don't want to try. I... I've always been curious about it... Hey, where're you going?"

"I'll close the door." 

He slips back under the covers spooning me. I can feel him nuzzling my hair, his exhale warm on my skin. His large, reassuring hands gently squeeze my shoulders. 

“You really don't have to, just to please me, you know that, right? I don't want to take advantage of how fragile you feel right now. There's plenty of other...”

“James...” I smile and snuggle even closer to him, his erection pressing into the small of my back. “I do want to. And there's no man I'd trust more than I trust you... Which is a bit weird, given the short time we've known each other. But I'll admit I'm a bit scared. You *are* rather well endowed.”

I can feel James' chuckle more than I hear it. “No need to be scared. The more you relax, the better it'll feel. We'll go real slow. And if you don't like it, promise you'll say so. I won't mind, okay?”

“Okay. Uhm... how do we...,” I stop myself to rephrase my question as I can practically hear James grinning behind my back, “should I lie on my tummy?”

“Let's try it like this. That way you can set the pace and you won't feel trapped underneath me.”

“I've never minded that.”

“No, but you might this time. Just remember to relax, don't hold your breath.”

His considerateness already eases my slight apprehension. I haven't even realised I've been holding my breath. I can feel James move behind me, the warmth of his body briefly leaving me. He rummages through the night-stand drawer. I hear him opening some lid.

“This might be a bit cold,” he murmurs. He places one hand on my shoulder again in a reassuring gesture. Then I feel him gently nudge my opening again, his finger now slippery with lube. He doesn't press in, but softly rubs and teases until I melt a little under his touch and start pressing back against him. 

“That's it,” he quietly encourages, his lips close to my ear. 

I gasp as his fingertip suddenly slips in. “Shhh...” James lets his hand slip from my shoulder and gently cups my breast, his thumb brushing over my hard nipple. “Good?”

I can't concentrate on speaking, so I just hum out an affirmation and press back a little more.   
The feeling is so different but at least just as intense.   
“Fuck… God...” I cry out as James slowly pushes his finger past my muscle and all the way in. He stops, letting me get used to the sensation. His breath has quickened and I can feel the heat that radiates from his body.   
I slightly move my hips to let him know I'm ready for more. “Fuck, you are responsive,” James growls. He starts to slowly move his finger, pulling out a little and pressing back in.  
I've never imagined it would be like this, never expected it to feel this intimate and intense.   
“That's so good,” I moan.

“Think you can take more?” James asks huskily. I can tell he's already fighting for control from the sound of his voice. 

“God, yes… please, yes!” 

Gently he withdraws his finger, just to slowly push two past my muscle. His other hand travels from my breast between my legs.   
“God, you're dripping wet!” he pants.

I let out a breathless chuckle. “You're telling me?” 

James scissors his fingers and I groan. The feeling sets my whole body on fire, radiating right to the core of my lust.  
“Sure you wanna do this?”

His question shocks me enough to find the words to answer him. “Are you kidding me? I'll burst if you stop now!”

James chuckles softly. “Thank God for that.” He withdraws his fingers and I can hear him opening the lube again. One moment later his cock rubs against me. James grabs my hip with one hand and lines himself up against me. “Remember to relax,” he murmurs, slowly pressing forward until the head of his cock slides in.  
"Your turn," he breathes. 

I tentatively move my hips and we both groan as James' cock slips deeper. The feeling of being stretched and filled is intense but not at all unpleasant.

"Fuck," James hisses, "you're tight." He grabs my hip, forcing me to hold still. "Gimme a moment."

I almost laugh. I'm glad this affects him as much as it does me.   
As the grip of his hand eases a bit I role my hips again and then again, slowly establishing a rhythm. I let out a groan and instantly bite my own fist, trying to muffle the loud sound.

Gently but with a slightly trembling hand James pulls my arm down. “Don't. I want to hear you.”

“Fuck, James… I'm so close. So close. Every time you twitch it goes right to my clit.”   
James groans and reaches between my legs again and just like that I explode, forcing his hand away as the feeling gets too intense. James entwines his fingers with mine, almost crushing them, as he, too, climaxes, pushing me over the edge a second time. 

“Wow,” I gasp as I can think clearly again. “That was something else.”

James chuckles and the vibration of the sound sends a shiver through my entire body. Slowly, gently he pulls out and kisses the nape of my neck.   
“Was it worth the wait?”

I turn around to face him and kiss him deeply. “Every minute.”

“Good.”  
James pulls me into a tight embrace and I relish the feeling of being held, warm and safe.


	10. Chapter 10

When I wake up, I find I'm alone in the spacious bedroom. The door's ajar and I can hear James playing guitar in another room. He's turned the volume down, but the sound still wavers in through the door. It’s nothing I recognise, in fact it sounds as if he’s just playing whatever comes to his mind and it’s such a peaceful, dreamlike tune that I almost drift off again.  


Before I can fall asleep again I peel off the sheets, slip into my undies and shirt as quietly as possible and tiptoe into the living room. James is sitting on the couch, dressed in faded jeans and a white t-shirt, his feet bare and his hair dishevelled and still damp from a recent shower. He's got his white Snakebite balanced on his leg, eyes closed, completely lost in his music. I don’t want to alert him to my presence so I lean against the door frame and just savour my own little private concert.  


After a few minutes James becomes aware of me. He blinks his eyes open, gives me a small smile and lets the melody peter out.  
“Can you play?” Invitingly he pats the spot next to him and holds up his guitar.  


I hesitate before I take up his offer, gently closing my finger around the neck of his precious instrument. “I used to have guitar lessons when I was young, but I don't know if I remember more than a few chords” I say. The truth is, I've had guitar lessons for about seven or eight years and was rather good at it. But I haven't touched an instrument for about a decade, so I don't want to raise high expectations.  
I softly strum my fingers along the strings, wrecking my brain for long forgotten skills. James smiles at me and gives me an encouraging nudge with his shoulder.  


“Come on, don't be shy. You can't be worse than Lars...”  


“I’m sure I am,” I laugh. I think it's a bit unfair to tease Lars when he's not here to defend himself and decide James deserves a small payback. I have to try a few times, but finally I manage to find the right chords. It's Bon Jovi's Living on a prayer, and James recognises it with a disgusted look on his face. 

“Ouch! You evil, evil woman,” he growls, prying my fingers open, taking his guitar from me, “now I'll have to have it exorcised.”

Still laughing I reach for the guitar again. “I can do it,” I offer, giggling at his facial expression, “trust me?”

James sighs. “After what you've just done I really think I shouldn't...” Gingerly, he hands me the guitar back. 

This time, I close my eyes as I concentrate. It's been such a long time and I want to get it right on first try. As I play the first notes of the Fear of the Dark intro, my fingers remember the rest and I open my eyes again to see James nod his approval. “Better. But you need to play the full song or it won't help.”

“I'm not sure I remember all of it.”

“No excuses. Go on, try!” James gets up to fetch a second guitar. He plugs it in and much to my joy joins in. We both don't have too firm a grasp of the song and there's a lot of trial and error and even more laughter before we manage to come up with something resembling the Maiden hit. James remembers more of it than I do and he turns out to be a patient teacher.  
Suddenly James sets his guitar aside, grabs my face in both of his hands and kisses me hard. I let out a surprised squeal and the guitar in my lap makes a sound like a fighting tom-cat.  
James grins. “I can't help it. You look just too sexy with a guitar and no pants.”

I curl my fingers into his hair. “Drop your pants and I can say the same about you.”

James laughs. Carefully he takes the guitar out of my hands and leans it against the sofa, out of harm's way. Then he pulls me closer until I'm straddling his lap, our lips glued together. 

We're much too busy kissing to notice the suite's door closing. As we break for air I can see Fran trying to sneak past. “Hey guys,” she chimes as she catches my eyes, giving a small wave and a saucy grin, “don't mind me. I didn't want to interrupt anything.”

I can feel a deep blush heating up my cheeks. No matter that this was all more or less Fran's idea I feel like a child caught with the hand in the cookie jar. I try to slide off James lap but his hands tighten around my waist and keep me firmly in place. He tilts his head back until he can look upside down at Fran standing behind the sofa. “Had a good time at the spa?” he asks. 

I think that’s rather obvious. Fran’s skin, impeccable to begin with, is *radiant*. She rolls her eyes blissfully and sighs. “Awesome. I feel as boneless as a pudding.” She bends down to place a kiss on James’ forehead. Straightening up again she gives me a warm smile. “And I see you’ve been enjoying yourselves, too. Well done. I was worried about you earlier.”

Determined not to let my mind wander back to our interrupted conversation, let alone the damned letter, I grin back at her, placing my hands on James’ shoulders. “James’ been taking good care of me.”

James looks up at me with a small, private smile. “I have, have I?” he murmurs, lightly tightening his grip on me. I hum out a confirmation and lower my head to kiss his lips again, forgetting Fran's presence as soon as his tongue snakes between my lips.  
James’ hands leave my waist to travel up my back and grab my shoulders, pulling me closer to him, deepening the kiss. 

Trying to scramble higher in his lap I almost knock over the Snakebite with my foot. At the soft thumping sound James instinctively reaches out his hand and saves the guitar.  
“Think we should take this back to bed?” I suggest.

James makes a sound that could be an affirmation or simply a growl while his hands crawl underneath my shirt. His fingers wander up my back and he lets out another growl as he realises I'm not wearing my bra. 

Sitting in his lap I can feel his body react to this finding, the bulge in his jeans pressing harder against me. James lifts my shirt over my head, his mouth on my breast before the silky garment has floated down to the floor.  
His fingertips trace the seam of my panties, occasionally dipping underneath the lace to brush over my skin. The feathery caress feels like his hands whisper sinful promises to my skin and I moan under my breath. “How come you're still fully dressed?” I ask, ghosting my lips over his ear. 

“That's probably 'cause it's rather difficult to get out of my pants with you sitting on me,” he teases.

“You could always start with that shirt.”

James sits up a bit and I assist pulling the shirt over his head. “Much better,” I praise, running my palms over his toned chest. 

“Not good enough,” James states gruffly, bucking up underneath me, “c'mon, you're right. Let's take this back to bed. I need to feel more of you.”

I steal another kiss, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth before I reluctantly slide off his lap, the denim of his jeans deliciously rough against the bare skin of my thighs. As I turn towards the bedroom I briefly look at Fran, who has wrapped herself in her silk robe. She winks at me and makes a shooing motion with both hands. 

Behind me I can hear James unbuckling his belt, a sound that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.  
I stop in the doorway to the bedroom and without turning around wriggle out of my black lace panties. 

James is behind me within a split second. He grabs my hips and all but throws me onto the bed. I let out a sound that is half surprised squeal and delighted giggle. James hovers over me, trying to trap me with his body.  
He catches both my wrists in one of his hands and pins them down above my head. “Now will you stop wriggling?” he growls and playfully nips my bottom lip.  


I arch up against him trying to get him off-balanced. “No, I won't,” I challenge him, “not until I've got you where I want you.”  


James softly scrapes his teeth along my jaw. “Oh? And where's that?”

I manage to slip both my legs free and to my right so that I can push my lower body up and against James' left side bucking him off. The move catches him by surprise and he lands on his back with a soft “Oof”. I think I can hear a low chuckle from Fran.  
“On your back. Underneath me,” I purr, straddling him.  


James' eyebrows shoot up as he runs his hands up my flanks to cup my breasts, squeezing gently. “You want to ride me? All you had to do is ask...”

I lean down for a passionate kiss, our tongues fighting for dominance. “My way's more fun.” 

Chuckling softly, James rakes his fingers through my hair and down my back. “True.”  


I wriggle down his body, showering his neck and chest with kisses. I gently suck on his right nipple and I can hear James moaning softly.  
I carefully graze my teeth over the hardened bud and James hisses through clenched teeth. Smiling to myself I switch my attention to his other nipple, snaking my hand further south.  
Gently I close my fingers around his throbbing cock, giving it a slow stroke. I'm rewarded with a soft curse. 

James runs his hands up my thighs, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside and higher, ghosting over my clit. 

I bite my bottom lip and James grins up at me. He knows I'm just as impatient as he is. 

Kissing him again I slowly lower myself onto him, dragging out the feeling of being entered. I groan into our kiss and James answers in kind.  
“Fuck, you feel good,” I whisper against his lips.

James wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for another deep kiss, gently rocking his hips up.  
I playfully bite his bottom lip and straighten up, taking him deeper. 

James takes the opportunity to reach for my breasts again. We've soon established a slow, deep rhythm that has us both breathing hard, our hands roaming each other's skin. 

I lean forward, hiding our faces behind the curtain of my long hair. 

“Do you think Fran would like to join us?” I whisper between small kisses.

James' large hands come up to softly caress my face and neck. “Do you want that?” he asks quietly. 

I smile and give him a slow, lingering kiss, before raising my face enough so he can look into my eyes as I answer. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

I can feel him twitch inside me, see his eyes growing wider, darker as he pulls me in for another hot kiss, his fingers burrowing into my hair. As we break for air he turns towards Fran, his hand reaching out for her.  
“Come here, babe.”

Fran shoots me a questioning look. I can see how much she wants to follow James' beckoning but she's hesitant for my sake. “Please,” I say softly, emphasising the single word with a nod. 

It's all the confirmation she needs and she stands up, her silk robe sliding off her body as she does so. “You think you can handle both of us?” she teases James as she slowly walks towards us, a sensual sway in her steps.

“If not, I'll die a very happy man,” James purrs, his hand curling around Fran's hip, pulling her closer. 

I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander over her body. I've never been with another woman before but right now I'm itching to touch her.

As if sensing my thoughts, Fran turns to me. She gently cups my cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly and it's the most natural thing in the world to just lean in and kiss her slightly parted lips that instantly open wider to allow the meeting of our tongues. 

There's a deep groan from James. “God, you *are* trying to kill me.” 

He shifts a little and pulls Fran closer. Our lips part but her eyes never leave mine as she lets herself be manoeuvred by him until her knees are on both sides of James' head. 

My hands are on his chest and I can feel his heart hammering underneath my palm as he gently pulls her down. 

Fran gasps out a moan as his mouth touches her and it's as if I can feel her arousal as well as my own.  
Now I can definitely understand why Fran wanted to watch us. I don't think I've ever seen anything sexier than James' inked hands on her creamy thighs, Fran's cheeks flushed pink and her eyes clouded with lust. 

The sight makes me increase my movements. I can feel my orgasm building deep inside, just out of reach but already so close.  
I move my hand to pinch one of James' nipples hard between my thumb and index finger, knowing he'll get off on the small pain. And indeed he bucks up underneath me and groans into Fran's flesh, which in turn is enough to make her come, clutching my shoulders for balance as her climax ripples through her. Her long fingers dig into my skin and as I feel James shudder underneath me with his release it's enough to push me over the edge as well.

We collapse into a tangled, deliciously sated heap. After a few breathless moments I poke James in the ribs. “Still alive?” I joke.

He rumbles out a laugh and lightly smacks my ass. “Not sure, but certainly very happy. What about you, babe?” he asks, gently combing his hand through Fran's blonde hair. 

“Nope,” she mumbles weakly, her face half buried in one of the pillows. 

James chuckles and lets his hand travel down her spine. “Aww, poor darling,” he coos, “it was all your own idea, remember?”

Fran rolls onto her back, a wide smile on her face. “And a fucking brilliant idea it was, too!” she exclaims enthusiastically, making us all laugh. “Seriously,” she says, pecking first James and then me on the lips, “thank you for this.”

I can glimpse the look in James' eyes as Fran brushes her lips over mine and I lean in a bit, deepening the peck into a kiss. “My pleasure.”

James lets out a growl that's only half acted. He runs his hand down Fran's arm to entwine his fingers with hers while he wraps a strand of my hair around two fingers of his other hand. “I really don't know if I can give this up to meet the guys tomorrow.” 

“Stop complaining,” Fran mock-scolds him, “performing live is the only thing you like as much as sex – and cars maybe.”

James stops, looking at her in mild shock. “Please don't make me choose.”

I snort. “If you want to have sex in a car on stage – the answer is no!”

James looks at me with a wide grin and an evil gleam in his eyes and Fran hoots with laughter. “Now you've given him ideas!”


	11. Chapter 11

"So, now you're spreading your legs for an ageing rock star, cunt?"

The voice isn't very loud but in the hushed, polite atmosphere of the lobby it has the same effect as Kirk's Enter Sandman-Riff. It hits me like a sucker punch. I can feel all colour draining from my face and my blood runs cold.  
_Please tell me this is a nightmare. That's not Dara standing there. It can't be._ But I know it's not a nightmare and while my brain still tries to get around the fact, my body has already switched into defence mode. Unnecessarily, as it turns out. 

In one crowded moment James and Max step in front of me and Fran grabs my hand, pulling me back with Steve shielding her with his body, and the next moment Dara is lying on the ground with a bleeding nose. There isn't even enough time for hotel security to interfere.

"You'll pay for this!" Dara screeches. "All of you! I'll sue you, Hetfield! I'll make you pay!"

"Oh please, be my guest!" James snarls. "We've got more lawyers than you've got brain cells. And if I ever see your face again, you little piece of shit, or you try to get to Annika or anyone else I know, you'll be lucky to meet every single one of them. Got it?" 

Never have I heard his voice sound so cold and hostile.

Max takes another small step towards Dara and from the corner of my eyes I can also see the hotel manager hectically motioning for the security guys to take care of him. But Dara scrambles up and gets off before they reach him, his legs almost overtaking the rest of his body.

James turns towards me and pulls me into a bear hug, his lips caressing my temple, his fingers softly threading through my hair, Fran still clutching my hand.  
"You're trembling," he states, his voice now soft and concerned. 

His kindness is just too much for me right now and I burst into tears. 

“Okay, change of plans,” Fran announces while I sob into her husband's chest, “I'll order up tea and you're going to tell us what that was all about.” 

Back in their suite, Fran curls up next to me on the couch and James sits across from us but so close that his knees touch mine, the two of them wordlessly offering comfort while they wait until I collect myself enough to start talking.

“There isn't much to tell, really,” I begin, clutching a very damp hanky.  
“I got the chance to go to Ireland for one semester when I was at university. So I went. I… I fell in love, got married and stayed.”

I pause and Fran silently pushes a cup of tea towards me. I take a sip. It's hot and sweet and oddly comforting. I smile my thanks and Fran pats my knee.

“Then what happened?” James asks softly. 

I take a deep breath, then shrug. “Have you ever seen that Julia Robert film where she's married to this psychopath?”

James shakes his head.  
“Sleeping with the enemy?” Fran asks.

I nod, recognising the title. “It was a bit like that.”

“Good Lord,” Fran whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. James looks at her and seeing the horror in her face he turns awfully pale.

He clears his throat. “Did he… did he rape you?” he asks in a very flat voice. 

I can see how much it pains him to even think about the possibility so I hasten to reassure him. “No! Thank God, no. He always thought that my sexual appetite was abnormal for a woman, so his way of showing me who was in charge was to *not* have sex with me.”

I hesitate, but then I decide to tell the whole story from the beginning. “I guess I never really knew who I got married to. I was too young and too eager to have a family again - or the feeling of belonging to someone, I guess. Dara is a few years older than me. It was perfect when I was still studying, and when I got my degree we both got decently paid jobs in Dublin. I worked as an engineer and Dara was a finance consultant. Soon he wanted me to give up my job. I didn't want to and he became rather... pushy about it. Then economy slumped and he lost his job. So he couldn't really argue about me working any more, since I was the one providing for the both of us.”

“I bet he didn't like that,” Fran puts in.

“Not one bit,” I agree, “he began to pick me up from work. At first I thought it was sweet, but then I realised he did it so he could make sure I went home directly after work. He didn't want me to go out with my co-workers on lunch break. Said we should save the money. But after a while I caught him hanging around the building I worked in. He actually monitored me. He told me what to wear and threw out all the clothes he didn't like on me. He tried to control everything in my life. He checked my cell for text messages and got really, really mad when I told him to stop doing that.”

“Why did you stay?” Fran asks, her voice trembling with emotions.

I shrug, looking down at my cup. “I had nowhere else to go,” I finally say and look at James. He nods with tears in his eyes and I know he can relate to that lost feeling.  
I take another sip of my tea and I realise my hands are trembling. “Then one day, I woke up and he had cut my hair while I was sleeping. Just like that.”  
I can hear James' sharp intake of breath. I know how much he likes my long locks, since he takes every opportunity to play with them and automatically I run my fingers through my hair as if to check it has grown back all the way past my shoulder blades.  
“I was shocked and I was mad, but he just made light of it, acting as if he thought it was some kind of prank. So I tried to calm down and went to the hair dressers and had it cut into a pixie. A few days later, one of my co-workers celebrated his promotion. We all stayed a bit late and had a glass of bubbly together. Dara got furious.”  
I stop talking, battling with the memory of the most horrible experience in my life. I need a few seconds and when I continue my voice sounds strange to my own ears.  
“That night he beat me. Broke my nose... and a few ribs, knocked out two teeth and threatened me with a knife. He... he said he would kill me if I ever disobeyed him like that again.” My trembling fingers touch my lips and I half expect to see the pink froth of blood mixed with spittle on my fingertips again. I rub my hand on my jeans to get rid of the memory. “Finally he pushed me into our bathroom, telling me to wash off all that blood. I climbed out of the window and filed for divorce the next day.”

“Good for you”, Fran says and squeezes my hand, although silent tears are running down her face.

“That wasn't the end of it, though, was it?” James asks grimly. His eyes still have a telltale shine to them.

I sigh deeply. “No, it wasn't. In a way it got even worse. He started stalking me. Spreading rumours about me. Sending anonymous letters to my boss saying I was leaking company secrets or applying for jobs at rival businesses. Although that last one actually resulted in a raise of salary for me”, I add with a weak grin and both Fran and James snort at that.

“But it got really ugly. He ordered all kind of things on the internet using my name. Luckily they had advised me to change my bank account immediately when I filed for divorce.  
He slit the tires of my car, he... he scrawled “cunt” all over the front door of my house, scratched it into the hood of my car. And I'm pretty sure he broke into my flat, too. He sent dozens of hateful, threatening e-mails and letters. I changed my phone number so many times none of my friends could keep track.  
He never attacked me physically again, but not knowing when... or what he would do next was... It turned me into a nervous wreck and finally I left Ireland and came back to Germany. I thought that would be enough. But after a few years he tracked me down again. I went to the police and got a restraining order prohibiting any contact, but you see how much use that is. I even took on my mom's maiden name and still he's found me again.”  
I slump against the cushions. “I'm so tired of this shit.”

“It must have been this bloody pap pics,” James says.

“I think James and Max scared him off, darling,” Fran says reassuringly.

“I'm beginning to wish we hadn't”, James mumbles darkly. “Anyway, there's a pretty good chance he saw the pics and found out where I was staying. Doesn't mean he knows your new name.”

I hesitate, looking down on my hands plucking the damp hankie to pieces. I know I should tell them about the letter, but for some reason I'm scared to do so. Finally, I take a deep breath. “I probably should tell you that... I've known he's on my trail again since yesterday.”

“What!? How?” James asks sharply. His eyes narrow and there's a frown on his face. 

Immediately I wish I had kept that information to myself. Too late now. “I got a letter from him yesterday. The apprentice at the front desk had it sent up to my suite, but she swears she didn't tell him my name.” 

“And you were going to tell us about that when?” James asks, anger sparking dangerously in his eyes. I shrink back a little.  
Fran reaches out to lay a hand on his knee and he calms down a little, even giving her the ghost of a smile. He lets out a deep sigh, rubs his hands over his face and then reaches across to grab both my hands.  
“Annika, I know you're used to handle things on your own. But you don't have to this time. We can help. And if he is after you, we have to know. This concerns us, too, now. I meant what I said earlier, you know? From now on, whenever he tries to get to you again, he'll have to face every single lawyer from here to San Francisco. Money is not an issue. Hell, I'll set every law firm in the northern hemisphere on his trail.”

“I've got a legal defence insurance,” I say weakly.

James looks at me as if I've grown a second nose. Then a grin spreads on his face. “Yeah, I'm sure that'll help.”

He stands up then turns to me. “You should tell the police. If he's under a restraining order they've got to know he went against it.”

I nod, standing up as well. “I'm sorry he turned up. Now I've ruined our day.”

James glares at me. “Don't you dare!” he says through clenched teeth.

“James!” Fran says reprovingly, seeing me tear up again, but James won't be stopped.

“Don't you dare apologise for that fucker. None of this is your fault, you hear me?”  
He grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes intensely. “You are a wonderful woman, you've got a brain inside that pretty head of yours, you've got a wicked sense of humour and a big, brave heart. And Lord knows you're sexy as hell. You deserve none of that.” He gently tilts my chin up with his finger. Despite the harsh tone of his voice his kiss is tender, his lips soft against my own.  
I close my eyes and feel a tear escape. James brushes it away with his thumb without breaking the kiss.

Fran comes over to us, slips her hand into mine and snakes her arm around James’ waist. “You’re not going to leave now, are you?” she asks gently. 

With some astonishment I realise that the thought never entered my mind. And then I realise something else: since my family died no one has made me feel so at home like Fran and James have, not even Dara in the early days of our marriage. I squeeze Fran's hand. “No. He's not taking this away from me.”

She smiles and with her free hand brushes my cheek. “Good.”

James gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze and kisses my forehead. 

“Still up to hit the stores?” Fran asks blithely. I'm not really in the mood any more, but I don't want to be a spoilsport so I nod despite myself.

Fran claps her hands. “You’ll see, nothing better to lift your spirits than spending too much money on pretty things.”

I try a smile but I doubt that my bank account is up to the occasion.


	12. Chapter 12

James’ phone literally screams at him and he fishes it out of his pocket with a sigh while I almost jump out of my skin. Fran grins. “That’s Lars’ personal ring-tone,” she explains in a whisper, “Kirk programmed it as a prank but James still hasn’t figured out how to change it.”

“I’m running late. Apparently the guys are already on their way from the airport. Oh, and Lars booked a table for nine o’clock, so I’ll try and be back around seven thirty, okay?” James looks at his watch and pockets his phone again.

He takes my face in both of his hands and gently kisses my lips. “Enjoy yourself, okay?”

I nod and he turns to Fran, kissing her, too. 

Originally we had planned to stroll down Ku’damm which is literary just down the street from the hotel, but after the incident with Dara, James put his foot down and insisted we take the car. “And Fran?” 

“Yes, darling?” Fran sighs.

“No splitting up, okay? Steve can’t have an eye on both of you if one is trying on shoes and the other goes book shopping or whatever.”

“I know, babe. Now be gone with you.”

James hugs and kisses both of us again before he grabs his guitars and heads for the lift. “Have fun!”

“You too,” we call after him then Fran looks at me with an exasperated sigh. “See? That’s what I meant when I said he can get overprotective.” 

“Well, he does have a point, I guess.”

Fran huffs. “I know. The point is he *knows* I know and *still* he needs to spell it out like I'm a five-year old. It's his old need for control, I guess. Sometimes it shows…” she trails off, distracted by her own thoughts.  
After a second she gives me a bright smile and loops her arm through mine. “C'mon. Let's see if we can find something pretty.”

I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for Steve as he follows us through the maze that is the KaDeWe, the iconic department store in Berlin. I’ve only been here once before, but Fran seems familiar with it and she purposefully heads for the most exclusive boutiques. 

The shop assistant, very slim, very blonde, looks as if she’s just stepped down from a Vogue cover herself. She gives me a super quick once over and doesn’t seem impressed. But as her eyes zero in on Fran’s Birkin bag, she decides we’re worth her attention anyway. “Willkommen bei Elie Saab. Mein Name ist Nicole. Wie kann ich helfen?” she warbles.  
Fran beams at her and puts on her American accent extra thick. “Hi, we’re meeting friends for dinner and I don’t think we packed the right outfit.”

The shop assistant - Nicole - makes an inviting gesture into the showroom. “Would you like a glass of champagne while I put something together for you to look at?” she suggests, now trying to sound like Lady Mary Crowley. 

“Marvellous idea”, Fran chirps and, winking at me, pulls me with her. For once, Steve seems relieved to stay behind. 

“Now, do you have anything particular in mind? What kind of outfit are you looking for?” As she brushes back her wheat blonde hair, half a dozen bangles jingle on her arm.  


She’s definitely starting to go on my nerves, fast. Taking a page out of Fran's book I exaggerate my Irish brogue as I answer.  
“Sophisticated with a touch of fuck you, I’d say. What do you think, Fran?”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Fran answers with a broad grin. 

The assistant is professional enough not to let it show but I'm pretty sure she's sighing inwardly.  
"I’m sure we’ll find something adequate.”  
Nicole gives a little wave and another beautiful and stylish woman appears, carrying a tray with two glasses.

I notice the blonde doesn’t ask our sizes and I wonder if she’s really that good, but then I guess they only sell model sized fashion anyway. 

Either way she doesn’t take long before she reappears, pushing a small garment rack with about half a dozen outfits. 

“Okay, you said dinner with friends so I thought we’d go for something chic but not too elegant. And I thought we could emphasise your complementary colouring.” She pulls out a short black dress with a seventies-inspired slightly psychedelic pattern in red and purple. “This one for you...” she leaves the sentence hanging in the air while she offers the dress for Fran’s inspection.

Fran leaves the sentence hanging long enough to become slightly uncomfortable before graciously giving her first name. “Francesca. And no, I don’t think so. That’s more something for my oldest daughter. I’m too... grown up for that.”

“Okay, what about this one?” Nicole pulls a deep blue long-sleeved dress off the rack. It’s got a slightly flared, knee-length skirt and a lace pattern on top and sleeves that looks like inverted angel’s wings. 

“That’s more like it,” Fran instantly says. 

Nicole smiles and drapes the dress over another rack. “And for you,” she says looking at me, “I thought this...” and she pulls out a chili red one-piece suit with wide legs and lace-covered cut-outs in the top that blend into the full length lace sleeves. 

If I was standing, I would back up now. Not only do I rarely wear bright red, more importantly I could never afford Elie Saab. Accompanying Fran is one thing, but actually trying on something might be pushing things a bit too far for me. 

Fran on the other hand seems enthusiastic. “Now, this is perfect for you Annika!”  
She furrows her brow as she sees me hesitate. She doesn’t ask but grabs both outfits and pulls me off the sofa. 

Nicole instantly guides us to the changing room. “If you need my assistance, I’ll be right outside the door,” she says as she opens the door to a smaller but no less luxuriously furnished room.

“Fran, I could never afford this,” I whisper hotly as soon as Nicole has closed the upholstered door behind her. “Outfits with no price tags definitely cost more than I earn in a month.”

“What are you talking about? I tagged you along, so it’s my treat.”

“But I could never pay you back! And James has already paid for the hotel...”

“Sheesh!” Fran rolls her eyes at me. “Stop being so… so… so German. Your gift to us is worth so much more than money. At least let me do this for you.” And she thrusts the red suit into my hands. 

Still doubtful I look from the outfit to her expectant face. Suddenly her lips stretch into a leer. “Want me to undress you?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows like a cartoon character. 

I laugh and give in, kicking off my shoes. “Atta girl,” Fran grins and pulls her sweater over her head.

Neither of us bothers to get behind one of the folding screens, since that would feel really strange after the last couple of days. By now, I don’t hesitate to zip up Fran’s dress while I’m just in bra and panties.  
“I like it,” Fran says, smoothing the skirt down.

“You should. It’s beautiful. Matches your eyes, too.”

Fran does a small turn in front of the mirror, checking her profile. “Yep. I think that’ll do. Now it’s your turn.”  
She helps me into the outfit and pulls the zipper in the back all the way up.  
“Wow, look at you!” 

I look at my image in the mirror and cringe. I can hardly recognise myself.  
The woman looking back at me now looks like vamp, only sans the make-up.  
Being quite tall for a woman I already get too much attention for my liking a lot of the time. So I am used to rather dress down than make myself stand out even more in a crowd. But there is definitely no way to avoid attention with this outfit.  
“You think? Isn’t it a bit... too much?” 

“Are you kidding? You look stunning! It really brings out your Snow White-look. Nicole!”

The door instantly opens and Nicole comes in, a wide smile on her face. “I knew it! You look amazing,” she says, forgetting about her Mary Crowley impersonation. She comes over to me and brushes and invisible lint off my shoulder. “It will look even better with the right make-up and a strapless bra.” 

“And I know just the place to get the latter,” Fran whispers to me with a wink. 

Quickly we change back into our own clothes and as Fran arranges for the outfits to be send to the hotel, I can’t help but notice that the credit card she hands over to Nicole is black.  
I’ve never seen one with my own eyes, but Nicole doesn’t even blink. 

Back in the car Fran turns to me as soon as we’re moving. “I know you like it a bit rough sometimes, but have you ever... taken things further?” 

“Ventured into BDSM-land you mean?” I’m curious what she’ll reveal. After the last few days I know that both Fran and James are much more adventurous in bed than I have been so far. 

Fran chuckles. “If you want to put it like that.”

“I’ve played with handcuffs occasionally, but nothing more. You?”

“Not for quite a while, but I think James needs to let off some steam. Remember this morning when I said his old need for control was coming through?” 

As I nod she continues, “Sometimes, his need for control pushes him too far, too close to the edge. Back in the days he would drink himself into a stupor, but we’ve found a healthier – and much more fun way – to deal with that. He needs to have control taken away from him, or he’ll snap. So I take over.” 

I cock my head and raise my brows. “I’d have thought that forcing him into a situation he can’t control would only make him snap sooner.”

Fran smiles. “I bet it would. But I don’t *force* him into anything. I’m offering, is all. I’m offering to take over for a while, to take care of him, to be the giving part, the one who decides what comes next. I’m giving him the opportunity to worry about nothing but his own feelings. I take him out of his comfort zone but only as far as he lets me. I may be the active part in this, but he knows – and that’s vital – he can stop me with just one word. You see, it’s always about trust. Him trusting me to stop when he says the word and me trusting him to actually say it when he needs me to stop.”

I nod. “That’s why I’ve never explored further. I’ve never reached that level of trust.”

Fran holds my gaze. “Would you like to try? With us?”

For some strange reason I can feel goosebumps spreading on my arms. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

Fran looks out of the window as the car slows down. Smiling, she turns to me again. “I’ll show you in just a few.”

We stop in front of a small shop called “Frauenzimmer”. The shop windows show a display of lingerie ranging from elegant to bold.  
“Kirk’s wife first told me about this joint. I bet we’ll find the right bra for you here. And then... I’ll show you the things they sell in the back-room.”  
Fran winks at me and pushes the door open. Steve gives a small sigh, and gestures for me to go ahead.

 

As we return from our shopping spree, Lars and James are in the living area, their heads bowed over the set list for tomorrow's show.  
“Hey!”  
James comes over to us and Lars stands up, too, his hands pushed deeply into his pockets. 

James greets Fran with a tender yet thorough kiss. Then, winking at her, he turns to me, an evil smile tugging at his lips, before he greets me the same way. Fran giggles and I can practically hear Lars' jaw hit the floor. His eyes the size of dessert plates he mumbles “Fuck!”

“Hi Lars,” Fran says cheerfully, hugging him, while Lars keeps staring at James and me. Finally, he hugs her back, kissing her cheek. “Hi sweetie.”

He shakes my hand as James introduces us, but the look in his eyes is unreadable for me and he seems strangely tense.

Fran gathers our small "Frauenzimmer"-bags in one hand and pulls me with her into the bedroom. 

While Fran and I store away our loot we can hear the voices in the living room getting louder. “Why are you being so anal about that?” Lars complains.

“Because you know I'm right and you're just being too much of a dick to admit it,” James answers only slightly calmer. 

We can hear Lars huffing and Fran grins at me. “They can still set each other off like nothing else. James will be so ready for our special tonight...” 

Lars mumbles something and James’ voice is getting sharper. “C’mon, Lars, you don’t care that much about the stupid opening song. What’s this really all about?”

“Oh, fuck, Hetfield, don’t act so fucking innocent – you bring your fricking mistress along? You think that’s fair on Fran?”

I tense and look and Fran, afraid he’s got a point there. Fran only lightly shakes her head and puts a gentle hand on my arm as we both keep listening.

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again now: Stay out of my love life, Ulrich,” James answers with a forced calmness. 

Lars lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Love life? Oh, this is getting better and better! You mean it’s not just about the sex?”

My heart stops for a moment, before jumping into my throat, hammering like a double-base. I don’t dare looking at Fran in this moment.  
Just from his voice I can tell James is blushing. “I... it’s... Fuck, I’m not even discussing this with you, it’s none of your business.”

My shock must be clearly visible on my face as Fran giggles. “C’mon, silly, don’t tell me you didn’t notice he’s falling for you. Hell, I think _I’m_ falling for you and I’m not even bi,” she whispers, smiling.  
“Oh my God,” I sigh and squeeze her hand. “I’ve been trying - so hard - not to fall - for either of you.” I’m so relieved that a silly giggle escapes me. 

“Fine,” Lars hisses on the other side of the door, “but don’t come running to me when Fran finally dumps you for good. Man, you’ve put her through hell before and now you put her up with that chick...”

“Cut it out, Lars. It was Fran’s idea in the first place.”

“It was...”  
I guess it’s not often that one witnesses Lars Ulrich lost for words. Fran decides not to miss the rare opportunity and opens the door, still holding my hand.  
“It’s sweet of you, Lars, but there’s nothing to worry about.” She shrugs with a grin. “What can I say? I like to watch and you’ve got to admit, Annika’s hot.”

For a moment, Lars just stares at her wide-eyed, then quickly glances at me and back at her. Then he shakes his head and looks at James. “I swear to God I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve her, Het.”

James sighs. “Believe me, dude, I’ve been asking myself the exact same question for years.”

Fran smiles and runs her hand through his hair. “And I hope you’ll keep doing that for a very long time.”


	13. Chapter 13

"You, Mister, need a haircut," Fran says, ruffling James' hair as he bows down to tie the laces of his black sneakers.

James grins at me and ostentatiously rolls his eyes. 

I give him a wink and a smile. "I like your hair like that. But your beard could use a trim."

"See, Annika likes it like that," James grins, conveniently ignoring the second half of my statement. He combs his hair back in shape with his fingers and very maturely sticks his tongue out at Fran. 

Ignoring her husband's antics, Fran gives me a mock glare. "You say that now. But give it another week and he'll start slicking it back with that dreadful gel and that makes him look like a drowned cat."

Her obvious disapproval makes my smile grow into a wide grin. "Fine by me. In a week I won't be around to see that." I say with a half-shrug, managing to make it sound much more light-hearted than I feel.  
Truth be told I don’t want to think about going back to work only three days from now. Back to my life without James and Fran in it. These past days have been an emotional roller coaster, and I've cried more in the last 48 hours than I have in years, but somehow calmer waters don't appeal. 

I shriek with surprise as James grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “Please can we keep her?” he asks Fran, giving her his best puppy eyes.

"Hey!" I push against his chest, while trying to wriggle out of his hold, "let go of me you big brute. You've already got one gorgeous woman, stop being so greedy." No use to let on I don’t want to accept the inevitable.

Fran smiles at us but I can see the pensive look in her eyes. 

 

Ten minutes later we’re in the car on our way to meet the guys at the restaurant.

As the car turns the last corner I suddenly understand _why_ Fran took me out shopping. I'm not a keen follower of social events, but even I have heard of this restaurant as one of Germany's true celebrity hotspots. I've also heard that you have to book a table at least six weeks in advance. But then I guess a black credit card gets you in front of many lines. And thanks to Fran I don’t even feel under-dressed. I snuggle a bit deeper into James’ biker jacket he's lend me – again – to add the required "touch of fuck you" to my outfit. 

We escape curious eyes by driving round to the side entrance and once we've left the car we’re quickly ushered inside and up a flight of stairs. The maître d' guides us through a small but exquisitely furbished hallway, past the most beautiful dining room I’ve ever seen and into a room that would best be called a library if it wasn’t part of a restaurant. It's then I realise that Lars hasn't booked a table but the whole floor. 

I can see that Rob and Kirk are already there, both nursing a drink and chuckling over something that Rob said. They raise their heads as we approach and my heart beats faster with unease. Neither of them seems surprised. James must have told them I’d be coming along. Or did Lars say something?

Both Kirk and Rob greet Fran with a friendly hug and then turn to me. James lays his hand on my shoulder. "Guys, this is Annika." He gently squeezes my shoulder before releasing it. 

Rob is a bit shorter than I expected, but my hand vanishes completely inside his larger one as he shakes it with a warm smile and a simple "Hi".

I immediately understand what Fran meant when she told me not to worry about these two. Rob radiates so much calm that I bet his kids never needed a pacifier. And Kirk, well, he's been keeping James and Lars off each other's throats for so many years he should have been awarded the Nobel Peace Price decades ago. 

"Nice to meet you," Kirk says with a small smile. 

"My pleasure," I answer, nervously tugging my hair behind my ear. 

Kirk's smile widens and he hugs me in the same friendly, warm way as Fran. "James says your into yoga. What style do you prefer?"

"Uhm, I can't really say. I guess I pick from a lot of styles. Vinyasa a lot, but also Iyengar," I stammer. From all the things I’ve expected to happen, a discussion on yoga theory was pretty low on the list, way below crude remarks about groupies or gold diggers. 

Before I know it I’m in the middle of an animated discussion about eastern philosophy, yoga and Buddhism. Kirk is very knowledgeable about all three topics and I find myself completely relaxed and enjoying myself until the energy in the room suddenly changes. Kirk notices, too, and he gently touches my elbow and winks at me. "Don't let him bully you," he whispers.  
I'm grateful for Kirk's support but I'm already determined that I won't be intimidated by somebody almost two heads shorter than me.

But it doesn't seem like Lars wants to intimidate me. He just ignores me for most of the time, until suddenly, half way through the delicious main course, he turns towards me.  
"Sometimes I think eating is just as much as fun as sex. Don't you agree… Annika?" Lars smirks at me. 

I'm not sure I like the challenging undertone in his voice and I can see James arching an eyebrow at his friend. "I'd say that depends on the quality of both the food and the sex," I answer calmly. "And anyway, I wouldn't deliver a judgement before..." I pause and look straight into his mischievous eyes, "I’ve had my dessert." 

There’s a short tension laden pause before Lars starts cackling and everyone else joins in. "Good one," Lars nods and salutes me with his wine glass.

"What was that all about?" I whisper to James.

"He wanted to see if you're easy to embarrass. He would have made a sport of teasing you."

"What song would you want us to play, Annika?" Kirk asks me, picking up the earlier topic of the conversation again.

Usually I would need time to decide since there are so many Metallica songs I love. But thinking back to this morning’s events the choice is easy. " _Don't tread on me_."  
Underneath the table, James squeezes my knee. I knew he’d understand immediately. 

Rob laughs. It sounds like a minor landslide. "I don't think I remember playing that, like...ever." 

" _That's_ your favourite Talli-song? Fuck, I don’t even know if I remember how to play that one. Must have been ages," Lars splutters, almost choking on his wine. 

"Nah, my favourite song's probably _Fuel_ ," I say, sharing a grin with Fran, "But I guess there's a good chance that's already on the set list." 

" 'sides, I don't see anybody treading on you. Not without getting their ankles bitten, anyway," Lars grins. 

It's not exactly an apology, but I can recognise a peace-offering when I hear one. I laugh and raise my glass to him. It seems I've convinced the Danish Dictator I'm neither a threat nor a pushover. "I'm glad you think so."

For the rest of the dinner, Lars seems a lot more relaxed. I don't know what kind of test he thought he had to put me through, but I’ve obviously passed and he is now as easy going and friendly towards me as towards everybody else.  
He doesn’t even pester me when I decline the offer of more wine. "No thanks, I've had enough," I say as the waiter moves to refill my glass.

Lars’ green eyes twinkle with mischief as he glances from me to James and back. "Fine, have it your way. More wine for the rest of us," he smirks.

James just rolls his eyes, but Fran smirks back at him. "I do hope you enjoy it," her voice so full of innuendo it makes almost makes me blush. 

Rob laughs out loud and Kirk cackles. "Oh, the look on your face, Uli!" 

Its almost midnight as we leave the restaurant. "Don't wear him out, girls. We've got a show to do tomorrow," Lars says as we part ways. He hugs James good night. "You're one lucky bastard, Het."

James pats his back. "I know."


	14. Chapter 14

As soon as the suite door closes behind us, James pulls me close for a heated kiss, his hands fumbling for the zip at the back of my one-piece. While he quickly pulls it down I can see Fran’s hands snake around his torso from behind to unbutton his black dress shirt. 

James reaches back with one hand to run it along Fran’s flank. 

I take a small step backwards to wriggle out of my suit and kick off my heels and James turns fully towards Fran to take off her dress, too. 

“Lars is right,” he says as he lets his eyes travel hungrily over both Fran and me. “I *am* a lucky bastard.”

He reaches out to pull us close again, but Fran takes a step back pulling me with her.  
“Uh-huh,” she shakes her head with a small, sinful smile. “You’ve got to wait here for a bit. We’ve got a surprise for you.”

James pouts. “What? You wanna start without me?”

Laughing I nod towards the bulge in his pants. “Seems you rather like that thought.”

Fran’s smile widens. “Give us ten minutes.” 

James sighs and hangs his head dramatically. “You do know you’ll have to make it up to me, right?”

Fran blows him a kiss. “Promise.”

She pulls me with her into the bedroom and we quickly prepare the scene. I take a quick look into the adjoining bathroom and there’s indeed a bottle of iced champagne in a cooler waiting next to the tub. I grin as I take the bottle out. That’s the one thing we won’t need tonight.

Meanwhile Fran has set on lightning the countless candles in the room, including three pillar candles in white, bright red and burgundy she places on the bedside table.

“Why the different colours?” I ask.  
Fran grins. “The darker the candle, the hotter the wax,” she explains. 

I shake my head with a smile. “The things I learn from you…” 

 

James inhales sharply as he steps into the bedroom, already stark naked. I can see his nostrils flare and his hands twitch, like an animal sensing danger. If I had still had any doubts, now I’d know that he’s not unfamiliar with this setting.  
He’s taken in the scene with one look. The dimmed light, the lit candles, the space blanket spread on the bed, the coils of rope on top of that. 

Fran walks up to him, caressing his face with a gentle hand.  
"Trust me," she prompts, her words a mere reminder of established facts.

"Always," James answers simply.

"And do you trust Annika?"

James turns to look at me. He swallows and nods. A warm feeling of pride spreads through my entire body. I know that like myself, James isn't one to trust easily. 

With her hand on his chin, Fran turns James’ face to herself again. “Good, then lie on your back on the bed. *Now*, James.” Her voice is soft but here is no mistaking the edge of steel in it. 

Still, James hesitates, holding her eyes with his own. 

Fran doesn’t blink as she sinks her long nails into the muscle of his thigh, causing James to wince. But I’m certain I can also see the ghost of a smile pass between them.

The space blanket rustles softly as James lies down, his eyes darting from Fran to me and back. I can see goose bumps spreading on his arms and chest. 

Fran moves slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. Again she caresses his face, bows down for a gentle, almost chaste kiss. “Remember the word?” she asks softly.

“Quidditch,” James answers, his voice barely audible.  
I have to bite my lips and look away to keep myself from laughing out loud. _Quidditch? Why, thank you. Now I’ll never look at Harry Potter the same way again._

Fran, however, seems satisfied with his answer.

They share another kiss while Fran reaches for the rope. She uncoils it and lets the end trail over his ribcage and I can see James shivering. Anticipation? Nerves? 

“We're going to tie your wrists down with this, okay?” 

James nods, his eyes never leaving Fran as she reaches for his hand. Her movements are slow and deliberate, giving him the opportunity to observe what she's doing.  
_Like dealing with a spooked horse._ The thought makes me smile, until I realise I've been watching, spellbound, while I should be there on James' other side.  
Taking Fran's lead I approach them slowly, running my fingertips up his long leg and hip until I can gently grasp his wrist. 

James turns his head to watch me wrap the rope around his wrist a few times before fastening it with a quick-release knot. 

While I secure the other end to the bedpost, Fran fetches the shaving kit. James' eyes seem to be glued to the straight razor and he swallows hard. I can't say I blame him. 

Fran on the other hand seems perfectly calm and confident. “Still okay, babe?” she asks with a small smile. 

James tugs on the restrains, testing them. The muscles in his arms and wrists strain visibly, but the rope doesn’t give. “Yeah,” he answers in a low voice.  
I can see his cock twitch as it begins to grow.

As much as I love to feel his strong hands on my skin, seeing him like this – his raw power tamed by our bounds and even more by his seemingly unending trust in both of us - is an extreme turn on.  
I reach for the shaving foam and set on spreading the white fluff on James’ chest and stomach. He flinches a bit at the first contact and again I’m not sure if it’s nerves or the coldness of the foam.

Thank God Fran’s hands are steady as she begins to shave James’ broad chest with even strokes. Obviously she’s done this before.  
As she’s finished her job of scratching almost every hair off James’ front, Fran wipes the razor clean one last time and carefully sets it down on the bedside table. Then she reaches under the second pillow and tugs out the black silk scarf. 

I can almost hear her unspoken question for James’ consent. In answer, he merely lifts his head to make it easier for Fran to fasten the blindfold.  
The emotion between them makes me shiver and I feel extremely humbled that they are comfortable with my being a part of this.

While Fran makes sure that James’ eyes are completely covered, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, I slip into the bathroom to get the champagne cooler. The ice cubes clink together as I pick up the cooler. I can only hope James doesn’t recognise the sound right away. Making as little noise as possible I get back into the bedroom and wink at Fran. She nods at me and raises from the bed. 

“Hey, are you two making out while I can’t watch?” James protests. 

We share a grin and Fran runs a fingernail from his sternum down to his navel. “That idea turns you on, doesn’t it?” she purrs. 

“Fuck, Fran…” James’ voice peters out as he squirms under her touch.  
Fran gently lays a finger on his lips. “Shh, babe,” she whispers softly, sealing his lips with her own.  
With James suitably distracted it’s safe for me to set down the ice and pick up the massage oil. I carefully dip my finger in the small metallic bowl to check the temperature. The liquid feels warm and smooth on my fingertip. It’s a sexy feeling and my smile widens.

As Fran straightens up again she nods at me and I tip the small bowl a little, slowly trickling the warm oil onto James’ skin. I can see the muscles in his abdomen contract with surprise but he quickly relaxes again, letting out a soft moan.

Carefully I dripple a bit more liquid onto his torso until the scented oil forms a little pool in the concave of his stomach. Before James’ heavy breathing can disturb the oil both Fran and I set on spreading the warm liquid on his skin and James arches into our touches moaning under his breath. 

I wonder if he's able to tell our touches apart. Fran wears her fingernails longer than I do, does that make her hand feel different on his skin? Are her caresses so familiar that he recognises them even when he's blindfolded? Are mine?

We take our time spreading the oil on James’ skin until his body glistens in the soft candle light. He’s closed his fingers around the rope so tightly, his knuckles have turned white. His cock, still untouched, is fully erect now.  
It’s easily the most erotic display I’ve ever seen. 

Running my hands up his torso I bow down to kiss him. His lips instantly open and he hungrily kisses me back with a growl, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth.

Finally Fran wipes her hands on a wash cloth and reaches for the white candle on the bedside table. Holding it almost one meter above James’ body she tilts it until the melted wax drips onto James’ chest. 

Arching up he hisses at the first contact, before the pained sound turns into one of lustful pleasure. 

I watch with fascination while fishing inside the champagne cooler for an ice cube. The little buggers keep slipping through my fingers but finally I manage to hold onto one and I slowly circle it around James’ nipple. James gasps out a moan and flinches under the coldness of the touch, squirming as much as his bounds allow. 

Fran lowers the candle and drips a path of wax down the inside of his left arm. The muscles in his arms locked, James tilts his head back as he lets out another hiss-groan. His cock is constantly leaking now and Fran exchanges the white candle for the red one. 

I fish out another ice cube to run it along his hip and down the inside of his thigh. Again he flinches and then quickly forces himself to relax, only to squirm and groan as the first red droplets of wax land on his stomach.

"Please," James whispers hoarsely as he arches against his restrains.

I take a deep breath, but Fran just smiles and slithers up his body.

"Yes, Jamie?" she purrs.

"Please let me come... I need... fuck...please..."

Hearing James beg for his release, his usually so powerful voice a mere hairbreadth away from breaking, is almost enough to push me over the edge.

Fran looks at me with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if I want to take charge. But I shake my head. I have a feeling this should stay between the two of them.

She smiles, reaches for my hand and entwines our fingers. Seeing what she has in mind I nod with an answering smile.  
Together we wrap our hands around James' hard cock. He instantly bucks up, while Fran undoes his blindfold with her free hand. James' wide eyes zero in on our joined hands and he groans loudly.

"Yes... fuck! Yes!" 

It only takes two more strokes and he arches up and climaxes with a long, deep groan loud enough to make me fear Max will break down the door any second.

Fran lets go of my now sticky hand and bows down to give James a deep kiss. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers against his lips and gets up to go into the bathroom. 

James is still breathing hard and I realise that while we’ve done all kinds of things, I still haven’t tasted him. I kneel up and hold his gaze as I bring my right hand up to my mouth to lick the salty and slightly bitter essence off my fingers while reaching inside my panties with my left. 

“Fuck, Annika,” James pants, “you’re gonna kill me.”

I smile around the fingers in my mouth. James doesn’t even blink while he watches me bringing myself off with only the lightest touch to my throbbing clit. 

Fran reappears just as I let my now come-free fingers slip from my mouth. She grins as she lets a damp wash-cloth drop on the night-stand. “No more need for that, I see.”  
She sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a gentle hand over James’ wax and oil-covered chest. “Let’s get you untied and cleaned up, baby.”

As I untie the knots of the rope I can see that James' struggle has made the soft fabric chafe the skin on his wrists and dig into his flesh. Pink bruises are already beginning to show. Underneath his tats the marks are hardly visible but they make me wonder how often his wristbands have been hiding more than ink on stage.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got no idea what he's gotten himself into. Metallica isn't just four guys. It isn't even just four guys and a road crew. It's a mean, multi-headed and far-reaching beast when it has to be. He’ll wish he’d never been born.

As the alarm goes off the next morning, the three of us are curled around each other like a bunch of kittens and it takes my sleep fogged mind a few seconds to figure out which limb belongs where and to whom.  


James is the first to disentangle himself so he can switch the alarm off.  
“Hey,” he says softly and gently runs a fingertip from the corner of my eye down to my mouth and across my bottom lip.  


Even though we all got just a few hours of sleep, James looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. I smile up at him, lightly rubbing my hand across his chest and shoulder. Last night’s marks on his skin have already vanished, all but the weals around his wrists. I softly brush my lips across first his left then his right wrist. 

James smiles and combs his fingers through my tangled hair. Next to us, Fran yawns and stretches. As James caresses her cheek, she playfully catches his finger between her teeth. James chuckles softly and places a light kiss on her forehead. “Alas, no time for that,” he sighs, carefully freeing his finger, “Lars has scheduled a band meeting at 11, and some promo shit at one o’clock. I’d better get ready…” 

“You know, sometimes I wish you’d become a… a mechanic instead of a rock star,” Fran pouts. 

James barks out a laugh. "I'll remind you of that the next time you complain you've got nothing to wear," he smirks, fondly smoothing back her hair.

Fran grins and sticks the tip of her tongue out at him. Then she stretches again, arching her back so that her breast brushes against James' forearm.  
"Stop that!" he chortles and lightly pinches the tip of her nose.

Fran sighs melodramatically before slipping out of bed. “All right, but then the least I want is the mother of all breakfasts, if I don’t get to have sex.”

James collapses sprawled out on the mattress. “That’s what happens in a marriage. Now I’m being substituted by pancakes and bagels.”

“Ha!” Fran exclaims. “If I’d gone down that path I wouldn’t fit through those doors by now.”

“Would have been cheaper than jewels and designer clothes, though,” James mumbles into the pillow while Fran orders a huge breakfast for all of us. 

“JAMES!” laughingly I smack his tight ass. 

“Ouch!”

“Aww, want me to kiss it better?”

James narrows his eyes at me. “I know what you’re doing,” he grumbles. I raise my brows and he goes on. “You’re trying to give me a hard-on before I have to go and face Lars.”

I burst out laughing and Fran snickers, causing James to narrow his eyes even more. “You’re both evil, evil women and I want you to know that.”

“Bad to the bone,” I confess.

Before James can answer, the hotel phone starts ringing. “Guess they’re out of pancakes,” he grins and fishes for the handset, “ ‘Lo? Uh, no, I’ll send someone down to pick it up. Thanks.” He punches in three digits and waits. “Morning, Steve. Can you just pick something up from the front desk? They’ve got a delivery for Fran. Thanks.”

Fran looks at him with wide eyes while slipping into her silk robe. “A delivery for me?”

James gives her a mock-stern look. “That’s what they said. Looks like you lost count of all the money you spent yesterday.” 

Fran turns to me as if she hopes I could give her an answer, but I only shrug. I’m feeling much to content and lazy to wreck my brain for something we’ll find out in a couple of minutes anyway. 

While Fran disappears into the bathroom and James throws on some clothes I indulge in just staying in bed a little longer, stretching and then curling up again. 

I blink as I hear James’ soft chuckle. He sits on the edge of the bed, takes a strand of my hair and tickles my face with it. “You look like some furry little animal curled up for winter,” he teases.

“As long as you won’t shoot me,” I yawn.

“I won’t. I might eat you alive though”, he grins, lightly biting my shoulder.

There’s a ring at the door and James tousles my hair some more before he goes to answer it. 

From the bathroom I hear the buzzing sound of an electric toothbrush and suddenly I realise I got neither my own toothbrush nor any fresh clothes up here. Bad planning on my part. And my suit’s still lying next to the door where James peeled me out of it.

The thought makes me snuggle deeper under the duvet again, until my gaze falls upon James’ flannel that he left lying on the chaise as he changed for dinner yesterday. I’m sure James won’t mind if I borrow it but I wonder if it’s okay for Fran, too. Wearing her husband’s shirts might be considered bad manners.

_Don’t be ridiculous_ , I rebuke myself, _I don’t mind if you fuck him but hands off his clothes?_

Shaking my head at myself I get up and slip on the shirt. Still, I can’t help feeling a bit nervous as Fran gets out of the bathroom. She doesn’t even give me – or my outfit - a second glance, though, as James gets back, dangling a Frauenzimmer-bag from his finger.

“Wanna show me what’s in this or is it a surprise?” James asks with a leer.

Fran opens the small lilac bag, a little confused. “I have no idea...” she begins and trails off as she pulls the same red bra set out of the bag that I have bought yesterday.

I shrug, thinking there must have been some misunderstanding. “Must be...” I cut myself short as Fran blanches and drops the bag as if she’s been burnt. 

Frowning, James picks up the bag and up-ends it over the bed. 

A ball-gag falls out. 

For a moment, we just stare at the object on top of the duvet. We all know who’s behind this. I can feel my hands start to shake, but I’m not even sure if it’s from fear or anger. 

James on the other hand instantly fumes. His face has turned deep red and the vein on his forehead is throbbing with rage. 

“Motherfucker!” he hisses through clenched teeth. “This stops RIGHT NOW.” He slams his fist against the side of the wardrobe, then stuffs the gag back into the small lilac bag. 

James and Fran exchange a long look. Again I get the impression, there's a whole conversation going on without one word being said. Finally, James nods and turns to me.

"You're not scared, are you?"

"No," I answer slowly, "I'm mad. And I'm shocked. I didn't think he'd go after anyone but me."

James pulls me into a tight hug, burying his hand in my hair. "He's got no idea what he's gotten himself into. Metallica isn't just four guys. It isn't even just four guys and a road crew. It's a mean, multi-headed and far-reaching beast when it has to be. He’ll wish he’d never been born." He kisses my temple and releases me from his hold to look straight at me. “You got a name of the guy handling your case? I’m going to call our lawyers, get them to kick some asses into action. And then I’m calling Gio and the guys. That filthy son of a bitch wants a war and he’s gonna get it.”

With my stomach twisted into a tight knot I get my purse and hand James my notebook with the details of my contact person. “I’m not sure if this’ll help. My case is handled in Düsseldorf and we’re in Berlin now, that’s another federal state. My contact doesn’t have any authority here.”

“That’s his problem, not ours, as our lawyers will soon explain to him,” James says with a grim smile.  
He scrolls through the contacts in his phone until he’s found the right one and then hits the dial icon with such force that I half expect him to punch a hole through the display.

I check my watch and calculate the time difference. “You think you’ll reach anyone? It’s in the middle of the night…”

James clenches his teeth as he listens to the dial tone. “I don’t care if they’re fast asleep or screwing twins… Hey Nathan, it’s James. Listen, this is urgent…”

Without so much as a “sorry to disturb you at this time” James rattles off a summary of what Dara has done to me and his popping up again in Berlin and sending unwanted messages to Fran. “I want you to dig that fucker out of his hole and make his life a living hell, whatever means necessary. Good. Yeah, I’ll keep the phone switched on.” 

He looks at us and nods. “That was the easy part. And now on to the Danish Dictator.” 

My stomach sinks and I wrap my arms around myself as if that could help keeping my entrails in place. Just when I had hoped I’d get along with Lars, that I’d convinced him my presence would not interfere with his band, it does exactly that. And that’s putting it mildly.  
I’m sure Lars is going to hate me. 

“Lars… Lars! Will you just shut up and fucking *listen* for a change?” James’ outburst obviously works as Lars seems to be quiet long enough for James to explain. James has barely finished his explanation when I can hear Lars’ gunfire talking again. Even though Lars can’t see him, James nods as he listens, pinches the bridge of his nose and nods again. “Yeah, good point. Okay. Yeah, I’ve called Nathan. He’s onto it. Okay. Thanks, man, I appreciate it.” He ends the call and takes a deep breath. “Lars is going to talk to Tony and make sure all confidentiality agreements are up to date. And he’ll also talk to Gio, so he can adjust his security concept if need be. So… things are being taken care of and all we’ll have to do is wait until we hear back from either Lars or Nathan.”

We don’t want to admit it, but all three of us are high-strung and it shows as the doorbell of the suite rings. I almost jump out of my skin and Fran suddenly seems to stand two meters further to my left. James knocks over a candlestick. He lets out a frustrated growl and strides over to the door, where he first checks the monitor of the safety system. He hisses out a sharp breath and shakes his head, before looking at us with a lopsided grin. “Breakfast.”

After the waiter has left with a generous tip, James inspects the various trays and dishes. “Geez, Fran, are we expecting guests for breakfast?”

Fran slides into a seat at the table and winks at him. “Topping you is hard work. I’m starving!” Then she looks at me, pointing a finger. “You. Sit down. Eat.”  
Obediently I drop onto a chair, but find I have no appetite. 

“I said eat,” Fran frowns. 

“Better do as you’re told. I wouldn’t put it past her to force-feed you,” James stage-whispers. He sits down between us and piles pancakes onto a plate. I don’t know if he’s that good an actor or if he’s really feeling a lot calmer than mere minutes ago. 

Fran gives me another menacing look and I take a bread roll just to appease her.

“Are you just going to look at it? Starving’s not going to help, you know. You might even feel better with some food inside.” 

I suppress a sigh and look at James for help but he just nods at my plate. I begin to truly feel sorry for the Hetfield kids.

To my surprise I find that Fran is right. The first few bites already help to calm my stomach. 

By the second cup of coffee, I’ve reached the conviction that letting this fantastic breakfast go to waste would be pure sin. To hell with Dara and his schemes.

The elephant doesn’t leave the room, though.  
“I’d like you both to come with me to the band meeting. I’ll feel better if I know you’re both close and safe. And it’ll make it easier for security, too, if we stay together as much as possible.” 

I’m happy to comply. I would feel trapped if I’d have to hide inside the hotel all day with nothing to do but worry about what Dara will do next. I’ve gone through that before and I know that nothing good comes from it. 

So, I’m looking forward to the distraction that the Metallica circus will certainly provide.

James grabs his biker jacket that I’ve dropped into a chair last night. Somehow seems like a lifetime ago.  
He hesitates, then smiles and tosses me the jacket. “Here, you should keep it,” he says, pulling a hunting jacket for himself out of the wardrobe. 

My cheeks flush and my heart speeds up, this time with joy. I give him a wide smile, pressing the jacket close. “Seriously? Thank you!”

James grins, enjoying my excitement. “Sure. I think you wear it better, anyway.” 

He opens a drawer and nonchalantly slips a gun into the pocket of his jacket. 

Noticing my shocked look he raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to protest. 

I don’t.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lars gives James a tired look.  
> "Of all the million fan girls you have to go for the one with the bat-shit crazy and violent ex-husband. That's just *so James*," he sighs and shakes his head.

Lars gives James a tired look.  
"Of all the million fan girls you have to go for the one with the bat-shit crazy and violent ex-husband. That's just * _so James_ *," he sighs and shakes his head.  
A tiny smile flashes over Kirk's lips at Lars' comment and a few of the others snicker.  
We've met everyone in a large conference room at the hotel the rest of the band and a part of the crew are staying in. To my surprise this "band meeting" does not only include the band, but also Tony, the tour manager, Gio, Metallica's head of security along with his team and a guy in a tailored suit who might as well have the word "lawyer" tattooed on his forehead. 

Rob and Kirk seem concerned but not intimidated by the news of Dara's threats. 

And Gio radiates a calm, professional attitude, almost as if he's enjoying the opportunity to proof the ability of his team. 

I'm relieved Lars simply accepts the situation, since I've secretly expected him to throw a scene. Still, I feel the need to apologise. "I'm sorry I'm causing all this trouble."

Lars shrugs. "It's inconvenient 'cause it fucks with the timetable. But then - something always does. And I guess it's not your fault. Anyway, I've heard that punctuality is a German virtue, so I guess they'll be here soon."

That's the clue for the lawyer guy to introduce himself as Oliver Rienke. "Nathan called our office, I'm here just in case the police has any legal questions about the whole situation," he explains while shaking our hands. 

I have the feeling, I'm missing out on something here. 

But before I can ask any questions there's a knock on the door and some-one from the hotel staff opens the door. "The gentlemen from the police are here. If you'd like to follow me?" 

Rienke grabs his suitcase and gestures for us to go ahead and so I let myself be herded into another room together with James and Fran. 

James has told me Metallica was a "mean, multi-headed and far-reaching beast". What he hasn't mentioned is that it's also a very fast working machine.  
Three hours after he's woken up his lawyer at the other end of the world, I'm faced with the highest-ranking policemen I've ever met. 

Almost subconsciously I compare the two. They're around the same age and even of similar built, and still couldn't be more different. The first is clean-shaven and wears a non-descript and yet expensive looking suit. The crease in his trousers is as sharp as the parting in his dirty blonde hair. The poster boy of an efficient civil servant, who obviously feels like a fish out of water in the presence of someone like James - who looks very much like a member of some biker gang with all the tattoos and his premium watch.

Next to his spruced up colleague the second man with a moustache as bristly as a wire brush looks as if he's slept in his crumply leather jacket and faded jeans and would rather go to sleep again soon. At least until you look into his eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses. Cool and grey they're probably the most intelligent eyes I've ever seen. I can tell this man knows his job and that feels awfully reassuring. 

The first detective hands each of us one of his business cards. KD Joachim Krüger it says. KD - Kriminaldirektor. I guess Metallica's lawyers did a good job of stirring things up. Kriminaldirektor means this guy is probably the head of his department. He gestures towards the man to his right. "This is Kriminaloberrat Jens Bachmann. He'll be the one in charge of your case. He's much more a man of action than I am. So, I'll leave you all to it."  
He nods his goodbye and all but flees from the room. "Seriously?" James asks looking at the closing door. "That guy came here just to hand us his business card?"

The wire brush in Bachmann's face twitches. "Usually people who want to press charges come to us. Maybe Mr. Krüger feels a little uncomfortable outside his office."

Bachmann clears his throat and rubs his hands together. "Shall we begin?" he asks and gestures towards the chairs. He's got the slow, slightly stiff English of someone who's had good teachers but little practice. "Düsseldorf emailed me your file," he says, dropping a folder onto the table as he sits down. "So, your ex-husband's making trouble again?"

I nod, show him the letter and tell him about turning up in the hotel lobby yesterday. "And this morning this arrived at the front desk, allegedly a delivery for Fran," I push the bag over to Bachmann.

Bachmann's facial expression doesn't change as he pulls the lingerie and the gag out. "I take it you did not buy this?" he asks Fran. 

"No."

"The underwear is the same that I bought yesterday. But I did not have it delivered to the hotel. We did not leave our address. Dara wants us to know he's watching us," against my will, I can feel a shiver running down my spine. At the same time my face heats up. I'm certain Bachmann's automatically imagining the sexy red underwear on me and I refuse to think about what he might make of the ball gag.

But still his face doesn't give anything away.  
"But the delivery was addressed to Mrs. Hetfield? And none of you bought this thing?"

"I think the message behind this is pretty obvious," James offers, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice.

Bachmann makes a non-committal sound and scribbles something on his notepad. Then he looks levelly at James. "And the nature of your relationship is..."

"Irrelevant," James growls. 

Rienke slightly shakes his head at him. 

Bachmann remains unfazed.  
"That's for us to decide, Sir."

"I'm a mechanical engineer and specialised in motor production and in my spare time I'm a huge Metallica fan. James is in Metallica and in *his* spare time he likes to restore cars. We've met through the fan club and stayed in touch. Eventually we became friends," the lie comes out so smoothly that Rienke gives me an impressed look. 

Bachmann sighs and closes his notepad. He shuffles through the file and pulls out a picture of Dara. "Does he still look like this?"  
James, Fran and I nod and Bachmann puts the photo back. "We'll try to find him and persuade him to return to Ireland on the next possible flight."

Rienke speaks up for the first time. "Some of our, uhm, assistants found out the B&B he's staying in. He isn't in, but I've written down the address for you." He hands Bachmann a slip of paper. 

Surprised, Bachmann raises his eyebrows. "Your 'assistants' don't know where we could find him right now by any chance?" 

"We've been onto this case for two hours. We're quick, but we'll need a little more time," Rienke answers with a small smile that doesn't cover his smugness.

"Huh, in the meantime, I'd like to talk to your security, Mr. Hetfield."

James nods and we all get up to re-join the others. 

Bachmann gives a very short summary of our talk and then again produces Dara's photo. "That's the guy we all need to look out for. I can't promise you police protection, but I'll tell the patrol to have an eye on your hotel and the arena. If there's any problem, call me. But I presume you already have some idea how to deal with the situation." 

"Can I just borrow that for a moment?" Gio takes a picture of the photo with his mobile and a second later almost every mobile in the room beeps with an incoming message. He gives a satisfied nod and then continues.  
"We don't have enough men to staff all of backstage with our own people, so we'll have to make do with the venue's security," he says, clearly not too happy with that solution. "They seem decent enough. The inner sanctuary, though, the green room, the showers, tuning room, those kind of things, we'll handle ourselves."

Gio reaches into his plastic bag and hands each of us a small, round gadget that looks a bit like miniature puck. "These are panic buttons. In the unlikely case you run into this guy, or even if you just, you know, panic, you push the soft spot in the middle and all of us," he gestures along the line of securities, "will receive an alarm along with your position on our mobiles. We'll be there in no time."

Lars turns his button over. "Hey, these things are cool. How did you get them so quickly?" He asks.

"I didn't," Gio answers and at Lars' quizzical look he goes on: "I've had them since the came out."

"Really? Why?"

"I * _am_ * your head of security," Gio explains patiently.

Lars nods. "Ja. Good point," he admits generously.

Gio holds up another button.  
"See that little slide on the rim? If we want to know you're safe, we can send a signal to the panic button that will make it vibrate and blink red. Then you push the slide up and we'll know you're safe. Or if you pushed the button by accident and want to let us know you're safe, you push that slide. Okay? Let's try that. I'll start with you, Lars."

One by one Gio tests our panic buttons until he's made sure they all work and we all know what to do. He gives a satisfied nod. "Okay. Remember you are to carry them with you all the time. Do not lose or misplace them," he pointedly looks at James, "if you change clothes, remember to take the button out of your pocket and put it into the other one. They are airtight, so you can take them with you even when you shower."

James snorts. "You gotta be kidding me. I'm not going to shower with that."

"Now you'll listen to me, Papa Het," Gio says slowly and deliberately, "I know technically you're my boss. But if we're talking security you'll fucking do what you're told."

James opens his mouth to protest but then closes it again with an audible click of teeth, glaring at the bigger man.  
Lars gapes at the two, then turns towards Gio. "How do you do it? He never stops arguing with me." He points an accusing finger at James. 

Gio grins and flexes his muscles. "I've got better arguments."

 

Kirk spins his panic button on the table top, looking at Gio with arched eyebrows. "Man, aren't you overreacting a bit?"

Bachman clears his throat. He looks at me and taps his finger on the folder before him. When I nod my consent he speaks up.  
"I don't think he is." He opens the folder and spreads out the hospital pictures from the night Dara beat me. 

It's as if a tremor runs through the whole room and Fran gasps as she and the band see the pictures for the first time. Even I've got to swallow hard. I haven't seen the pictures in years and I've forgotten that my face is hardly recognisable beyond the bruising.

Lars just glances at the uppermost photo, his lips a thin, angry line. "You could have said something," he says to James, who spreads his fingers and slightly raises his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Not my decision."

Lars holds his eyes for a moment, then gives a curt nod. His fingers drum out a fast rhythm on the table but his anger does not seem to be directed at James or even me.

Kirk looks at me, his eyes full of pain and sympathy, probably thinking back to his own youth. I just want to hug him close. 

"Fuck, man, that's just sick," Rob curses, shuffling through the pictures, a look of loathing on his face.

"I'll fucking kill him," James mumbles. His gaze fixed on a close-up of my bloodied and swollen face, he holds Fran's hand in a grip so tight it looks painful. He reaches out with his other hand and ghosts his fingers across the photo as if he's trying to erase the pain through the years.

Bachmann clears his throat again, thumbing through my file. "I didn't hear that," he tells the folder, or maybe the room in general.

James glares at him. A full-on, pissed off Hetfield-glare and Bachman doesn't even flinch. I can't help being a wee bit impressed. "Not only did that man, and I'm using the word loosely here, terrorise and beat up someone dear to me, he's now even threatening my family. I will NOT allow that. If I'd had a gun with me the other day he'd already be dead."

"James!" Kirk, Lars, Gio, Fran and I chorus, causing Rob to give an amused snort. 

Now Bachman does raise an eyebrow. "I heard that alright, but luckily for you my English is much too rusty to fathom the full meaning of your outburst, Mr. Hetfield."

James is too wrought up to appreciate the irony. "I could write it down if that helps," he snaps.

"Oh for Pete's sake, James, the man is only trying to help! Calm down, before you stick out your neck any further." I snatch the picture he's been staring at and stuff it back into the file with the rest of them. "And besides, I'm not that defenceless anymore."

Bachmann raises is eyes. "Meaning?"

"I've got a brown belt in ATK," I explain, using the German pronunciation of the three letters.

Bachmann looks equally surprised and impressed, while the others obviously don't understand what I'm talking about. 

"A, T What?" asks Lars.

"Anti-Terror-Kampf. It's a self-defence system that has been developed by a German policeman in the 1960s. Highly effective. It combines stuff from Kung Fu and Jiu Jitsu and other martial arts with survival skills. You learn how to defend yourself against armed opponents, how to tie knots and how to survive in the wild. It really is pretty cool - and very painful in the beginning," I add, remembering the bruises and sore muscles. 

"As commendable as that might be, don't let it decoy you into taking any risks," Bachmann warns. 

James still bristles. "How about you'll get him before it can come to that?"


	17. Chapter 17

Tony, the tour manager, claps his hands and, raising his arm, points at his watch. Like Lars has predicted, the prolonged band meeting has fucked up the timetable and we have to hurry to get to the interview appointment on time. Ironically enough it's with the tabloid that's published the bloody pap pictures in the first place.  
Bachmann takes his leave, reminding us again to call him if anything seems off and with a few chosen words to James that I can't hear but that obviously do nothing to improve James' mood. 

We all gather our stuff and Tony hands out backstage passes. Then he consults his clipboard and appoints several of the securities to accompany us to the interview while he instructs others to head to the arena. 

I lightly shake my head. Who would have thought that the one time I let my libido rule my head would land me with a bunch of top-notch lawyers and securities to take care of my trouble with Dara.

While the others file out of the room, I grab James' right hand in both of mine. "Thank you for doing all of this for me." 

For a second, he seems surprised. "Of course. I." he interrupts himself and caresses my cheek with his free hand. "I could never forgive myself, if something happened to you."  
With a quick glance, he makes sure Bachmann has already left, then cups my cheek to gently kiss me.

It only lasts two or three seconds, yet the kiss leaves me breathless and dizzy with emotions. As our eyes meet, James blushes. I guess he's feeling it, too. 

I've been in lust with Metallica's frontman since. well, forever, basically, and now it seems I can no longer deny I'm head over heels in love with the man behind the musician.  
Damn, I think all this has just become even more complicated. And yet I'm bubbling over with happiness.  
Somewhere along the corridor a door bangs and we jump apart. But whoever it was doesn't come our way so we share a sheepish grin and hurry to close ranks with the others. 

As we all pile into the waiting cars, Tony thrusts his clipboard into my hand. "Here, just look busy and snotty when you get there and they won't give you a second thought," he advises with a wink.  
I look down at the clipboard. The uppermost sheet is a To-do-list from 9 a.m. ("setlist fwd. 2 crew?") till 2 p.m. ("re-check caterer"). I look for the points "lunatic ex-husband business" or "deal with troublesome mistress", with no success. 

"Won't you need this?"  
Tony shakes his head with a grin. He reaches into his knapsack and produces another clipboard. "I always keep a duplicate - just in case." 

"You're such a Boy Scout!" Lars teases, as if he would not have anyone's hide should they fuck up.

"And you love me for it," Tony states.

James pats his shoulder while squeezing past him into the car. "We do."

I'm grateful for Tony's little red herring, but as we arrive at the strange hybrid tower building that is half late 1960s and half early 2000s, the tabloid people are much too busy fussing around the band to pay the entourage any attention. 

Finally, we are all settled into a lounge which today doubles as a mini studio with various cameras and spotlights. The sofa's too small for the guys to sit comfortably, so Kirk perches on one of the armrests and Lars looks more than a little crowded between the burlier James and Rob. Two women bustle about with powder brushes and make-up.  
The rest of us settles down at the other end of the lounge so as not to get in the way of the two cameramen and what seem to be curious onlookers. 

I lean towards Fran. "So. Quidditch?" I whisper.

She chuckles softly. "The kids used to love it when we read Harry Potter to them. So, when we were looking for a word, that's what James came up with. It's so silly it's easy to remember and you're not very likely to accidentally say or misunderstand it."

A young intern serves coffee and soda and suddenly there's a hubbub coming from the direction of the sofa. 

James has managed to get Kirk off kilter, who is now taking his revenge by sitting in James' lap and obviously trying to miraculously double his weight.  
James just laughs and bounces his legs, making Kirk as uncomfortable as possible.  
Fran shakes her head with a smile. "The more time they spend together, the sillier they get, the lot of them."  
Apart from that the interview seems to be pretty much routine and about half way through it, Fran closes her eyes to catch up on sleep.  
I'm feeling a little tired, too. But there's much too much going on inside my head - and my heart - to think about sleep. 

Twenty minutes later, I gently nudge her awake. "They're finished."

"Praised be the Lord," Fran yawns. 

Thanks to Tony's clipboard I know sound check is next on the agenda. So we all pile back into the cars that take us to the arena. 

To my surprise there are already a hand full of fans waiting at the main entrance. They cheer and throw some horns as they see the SUVs pass, even though they can only guess their heroes are inside the cars.  
We park next to the huge trucks that transport the equipment. Some securities in high-vis vests stroll around, looking bored.  
My heart races as I see a tall man with auburn curly hair leaning against one of the steel barriers that line the way to the stage entrance. My fingers trace the outline of the panic button inside my jeans pocket. I won't need it since Max and Steve are right behind us, but still it makes me feel a bit better. As I come closer I can see the guy has no freckles and is at least fifteen years younger than Dara.  
He calmly checks our backstage passes and nods as he steps aside to let us pass. 

We have to find our way through a real maze of corridors and staircases until we finally reach the backstage area.

"Gosh, Gio really put the fear of God into these guys," Kirk states as we have to show our passes for the third time since entering the arena. He opens a heavy steel door and instantly almost runs into Tony.

Unfazed, Tony looks up from his mobile. "Ah, good. Sound check in fifteen," he says and keeps on typing. 

People are bustling about pushing large boxes full of equipment or uncoiling great lengths of cable. Everybody seems to know exactly what they're doing, though. We thread our way through this controlled chaos, the band shaking hands and exchanging friendly insults with their crew. 

While the guys check their instruments with their respective techs, Fran and I make our way to the front of the stage to watch the sound check from the fans' perspective. After a few minutes, Lars is the first to emerge on stage, followed quickly by Kirk and Rob. 

James, however, appears in front of the stage. Lars throws a drum stick at him, which James deftly ducks.

"You wouldn't be able to hit a truck if it was two feet in front of you!"

"Stop bragging and get your sorry ass up here, Hetfield!" 

James grins and flips him off. But he does quicken his steps as he comes over to us. "Almost forgot something..." he says, softly enough that only Fran and I can hear it.

As if making a point James kisses both Fran and me in front of everybody and as he turns back towards the stage, Fran does something she's never done before. She slips her hand into the back-pocket of my jeans. For a moment I'm surprised, but then I understand. It's her subtle as ever way to make clear she's not the poor cheated on wifey, but a consenting part of this. Somehow, I get the feeling I must prove my own point I'm not just somebody's sex-toy, so I mirror her gesture and add a tiny squeeze. Fran looks at me and laughs.  
I can't help grinning back at her. I guess this unrestrained laugh is one of my favourite things about Fran and I'm pretty sure James feels the same way. 

The one thing I learn about sound checks today: They're boring - for band and crew they are a necessity, for those uninvolved they are about as entertaining as watching paint dry. I'm glad when every note on every single instrument - I've never really noticed how many the guys actually use on stage - sounds *just so* and every spotlight is bright enough but not blinding, and everyone is convinced they know all the cues for the special effects. 

I have a hunch though, if one of the techs hadn't walked in with a big slice of pizza in her hand, it would have gone on a bit longer. 

"Come *on*, Lars, food!" Kirk whines.

"But that spot is not . ah fuck it."

All we have to do is follow the mouth-watering smell and we end up in one of the bigger back stage rooms, where we find dozens of sliced pizzas. 

One of the wardrobe girls is just searching through the boxes to find her favourite.

"Hi, Chrissie, nice tutu," Rob grins. The girl is indeed wearing a bright pink tutu and skin tight leather pants, topped off with a Sex Pistols shirt. 

"Oh, come on, in our post-feminist era a woman can be dressing feminine again," James grins and Chrissie very elegantly curtseys.

Lars chortles. "Been reading Cali's girlie-magazines again?"

Kirk looks up from his pizza. "Any good make-up tips in there?"

Fran pushes her hardly touched slice of pizza over to James.

James glances at her. "Your head?" he asks gently and Fran nods with a sigh.

Now that I look more closely at her I can see that she looks a little pale and her eyes are slightly glazed over and unfocused.

James ghosts his hand over her hair. "Steve can take you back to the hotel. You'll be more comfy there."

"No, Steve is needed here. I'll just pop a pill and lay down. Then I'll be all right again after the show."

"'kay," again he smooths back her hair, "got your panic button? Good, come on. Tony usually has pain killers. You can lay down in my dressing room. And keep the door locked."

After Fran has laid down in the dressing room, James leaves me with Tony. As if the poor guy needs another thing to worry about.

"Just tell me where I won't be in the way," I ask and Tony seems relieved. 

"Could you just wait in the green room? We've still got three hours to go and the guys will be tuning and warming up and stretching and stuff, and the support act will turn up any second and I need to keep an eye on them, too."

"Sure." Maybe I'll get to catch up on sleep, yet, too. Tony promises he will get me to a place at the side of the stage, where I can watch without being in anyone's way when the show starts.  
Under Gio's watchful eyes I curl up on the sofa and watch the smoothly running clockwork of Metallica's roadcrew.

Shortly before eight in the evening, Tony gives me a sign and I follow him to the side of the stage.  
The support act are about to start and for the next forty minutes they deliver an impressive set. The audience is clearly appreciative, but at the same time I can feel the energy that's starts buzzing as soon as the band leaves the stage again.  
  
The buzzing swells until the first notes of "The Ecstasy of Gold" are played and the crowd goes nuts.  
  
I turn around to look back into the corridor and I can see James, Lars, Kirk and Rob on their way to the stage.  
They huddle together and I believe it's Kirk's turn to give the prep talk, but I don't catch the words.  
  
James raises his head again and winks at me. They are all brimming with excitement and eager to hit the stage. I smile and give him a thumbs up.  
  
Thinking back five months to that momentous night in May, I can't help feeling relieved there will be no fans onstage tonight. I know I have no claim on James, but still. My respect for Fran grows even more.  
As Metallica enter the stage I realise something strange. During the last few days I've become so used to James' gentle and sweet nature that his stage persona gets me by surprise again.  
Not being a part of the crowd I can still feel the energy feeding back between band and fans and all that rock-induced testosterone awakens the butterflies in my stomach.  
  
They kick off the show with Broken, Beat & Scarred and I remember yesterday's argument between Lars and James. I guess James won. During Kirk's solo he moves to the back of the stage, making room for Kirk at the centre of attention. He turns towards the side, seeking and holding my gaze. His look sends a shiver down my spine. I slightly incline my head. Message received and understood. James gives me a small, private smile and a nod of his own, before he turns back to face the crowd.  


********** **  


Even though I'm standing in the shadow of the side stage, I can still tell that the fans love every second of the show, and Metallica do, too. They play for two hours, putting every ounce of energy into the music, working the crowd into a frenzy. 

Before the encore, everyone takes the chance to get something cold to drink and something dry to wear.

"Fran still sleeping?" James asks while resolutely towelling his hair.  
I nod and try not to stare too much as he peels his sweat-soaked shirt off and runs the towel over his chest. "Guess so. She locked herself in your dressing room and hasn't come out yet."

James nods, takes the water bottle Tony hands him and empties it with three large gulps before slipping on a fresh shirt.

I really have to fight the urge to run my hand over his chest and further down. I want to touch him - oh, who am I kidding - I want to devour him right here and now. _Patience_ I tell myself.  
As the last note of Enter Sandman is played, all pics and drumsticks are thrown and exhausted but enthusiastic fans leave the arena, I finally see my opportunity. 

"Hey," James chuckles as I open the door to the storage and push him inside, "what do you think you're doing? I'm all gross and sweaty."

"Excellent," I purr, pulling him deeper into the shadows, "that's just the way I want you. Dirty and sweaty and all fired up from the show." 

Between two rows of floor-to-ceiling racks I shove James against the wall and he doesn't protest as I drop to me knees in front of him.  
He does, however, put his hands on my shoulders. "You think that's a good idea? With everybody on the look-out and on edge?"

I hold his gaze and I can see how hard he tries to not just let his passion rule his head.  
I reach for the waistband of his jeans. Conveniently he has already unbuttoned it and lowered the zip half-way. The blue elastic of his Calvin Klein-boxer briefs peeks out, the rough denim moist from his sweat and clinging to his skin as I pull the zip all the way down. 

I know what I'm doing is reckless, stupid even. But I'm feeling defiant. I want to prove, if only to myself, that Dara's mind games don't impress me anymore.

"I'm greedy and you'll be gone in two days. I'm going to enjoy this for as long as I can," I state.

James squeezes my shoulders. "About that. Erm... I know this is a weird moment. But... Have you ever thought about leaving Germany again?"

I sit back on my haunches and raise my brows inquisitively.

James tucks some stray hair behind my ear. "Lars knows Elon pretty well," he says and I don't even have to ask for the second name. "I guess he could make some calls," he gives an awkward half-shrug, "pull some strings, whatever..." I can feel my head swirl. Working for Tesla would be a dream come true, so much so that the idea is too much to handle right now.

"James Alan Hetfield, for a successful musician you've got a bloody awful timing," I sigh, "how am I supposed to think about something as life-changing as that right now?" 

James gives me a sheepish smile as I lightly shake my head at him.

Instead I focus on my current self-set task. I kneel up again, tightening my grip on his waistband.  
James gives in to me and leans against the wall, letting his head fall back. "God, you make me feel 25 years old," he whispers huskily.  
"I hope that's a good thing."

"In this case? Yes. Hell yes, in fact." He lowers his head again so he can watch me as I push his jeans and underwear out of the way, freeing his already half-hard cock. 

I smile up at him and run my tongue along the underside. James groans softly. His eyelids flutter, but he struggles to keep them open, determined to watch me. He cups my cheek in one hand as if he needs something to hold on to.  
Forming a tight ring with my fingers I take him in my hand and lightly swirl my tongue around the head. The effect is instant. A shiver runs through James' entire body, his cock growing to its full size within seconds.  
I keep stroking his hardness while kissing his abdomen, licking up the salty taste of his sweaty skin. 

James lets out a long, deep breath. He's usually more vocal, but I guess he really doesn't want to attract the attention of the techs and roadies still bustling around.  
I would smile if my mouth wasn't occupied otherwise. _Let's see if I can make him lose some of that self-control._

Kissing and nibbling my way down his taut stomach I can feel his breath become ragged and then hitch as I close my lips around the tip of his cock, slowly sucking him into my mouth.

He's big and I have to be careful to not start gagging. Thankfully James doesn't push in but lets me set the pace. There's no way I can take all of him, so I keep my hand wrapped around the base of his cock and concentrate on pleasuring the sensitive tip with my lips and tongue. I've never been able to get past my gag reflex. Personally, I think that whole talk about deep throating must be a kind of urban myth.

"Fuck, you're good at that," James whispers, his voice so strained it's barely audible. 

He cups my cheek tighter and as I sweep my tongue over the head of his cock I can taste the first droplets of pre-come. I look up but James has his eyes screwed shut and bites his lip to keep quiet. I guess I'm doing something right here. Struggling to take him deeper I straighten my back further, putting more weight onto my knees, which are already screaming in protest to the hard concrete floor. James' hand slips from my cheek to the back of my head and he can't suppress the small growl that escapes his throat.  
"Fuck, yeah," he breathes, "just like that."  
His fingertips dig deeper into my hair, but he keeps from thrusting into my mouth.

I know he's getting close now and I speed up a little, closing my fingers a bit tighter and keeping my tongue pressed against his hard flesh.

Moments later he comes with a suppressed growl, his fingers knotting into my hair, his other hand clutching at my shoulder. I wait until he's come down from his high before I swallow and release him from my mouth. 

"Fucking hell." he breathes. 

I grin and lay a finger on his lips. "You can thank me back at the hotel."

James laughs, still a bit out of breath and straightens his clothes. "That I can."

I carefully open the door and peek out on the corridor. Two techs are wheeling a heavy looking box out of sight. 

"All clear," I say and pull him with me out of our hideaway. 

"Ah, look who's here now. Just the person I was looking for. " 

We stop dead in our tracks as if frozen on the spot. 

As Dara saunters towards us he casually flicks open a butterfly-knife.  
"Looks like you've got something belonging to me, Hetfield. No, that's okay, 'cause actually, I got something belonging to you, too." As Dara raises his left hand we can see the bundle of blonde hair he's holding.

  



	18. Chapter 18

I feel as if I'm dumped into a pool of ice water and next to me I can sense James turning rigid. "Fran," his whisper half plea, half curse. It only takes a split second and James roars with anger, ready to jump.

I grab his hand and it takes all my strength to hold him back. Dara laughs.

"C'mere, Anni," Dara demands.

I'm still holding James' hand and this time it's him who tightens his grip. "Don't."

"No, James", I say and reassuringly squeeze his hand, trying to convey I know what I'm doing. "It's me he wants." And all of a sudden, time slows down so much it almost stands still.

I know James isn't thinking clearly in his blind rage and that's always dangerous. I can only hope he's got enough presence of mind to use his panic button now that Dara focuses on me.

I'm surprised how calm I feel. It's almost as if I've been waiting for this moment for the last six years. I know exactly what I need to do.

_You will not hurt me this time_ , I think as I slowly walk towards Dara, _this time I know what you're capable of. This time it's you who has no idea._

"So here you are," a female voice calls and Fran rounds the corner, completely unscathed.

Dara half turns around, furious. Knowing he won't get another chance now, he shoots forward and tries to grab me.

But I've been expecting exactly that and my body reacts automatically. I sidestep his charge, dig my fingertips painfully into the muscles of the arm holding the knife, pressing down on the pain point, while grabbing his neck right above his jugular with my right hand to squeeze his windpipe. His eyes bulge with surprise and the lack of air and I can hear the knife clatter to the floor.

I hear a scream and I guess it's Fran, but I don't dare taking my eyes from Dara. Quickly I let go of his arm to grab him by his hair and yank him off balance and down. Dara's making choking noises and I can still hear somebody yelling and then a voice booms: "Getouttaway!"

From the corner of my eye I can see Max running towards us. I release Dara from my hold right as Max crashes into him from behind. Both tumble to the floor, Max burying Dara underneath his body. There's a strange cracking and grinding sound and suddenly Dara is screaming on top of his lungs and there's an acrid smell in the air. Dara's struggling wildly to get Max off his back. I can see blood seeping out from underneath him.

More and more people come running. Some men of the security team are talking rapidly into their radios, but I can't catch the words as they close in on Max and Dara.

I see Kirk and Lars, still wet from their shower and wrapped in towels, remains of shampoo still visible in Kirks curls. Rob, dressed in only his shorts and socks, obviously hasn't even made it into the shower before all hell broke loose.

Some of the techs are there, trying to make sense of the situation. James has wrapped his arms tightly around Fran and it seems he never again wants to let go of her. Both are pale as sheets.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" Lars shouts and I guess that I'm the only one speaking German and probably the only one knowing that the number to call is 112 and not 911. "They're on their way," one of the guys from the venue's security says.  
_Right, they're German, too. Thank God._ I feel relief flooding through me. I don't know if I could talk right now.

The puddle of blood is growing at an alarming speed and now I realise that Max has long got off Dara's back, but he's still not moving. Steve is inspecting Max' hand with a grim look on his face.

Now Steve's turning Dara over and the sight almost makes me sick. There are shards of brown glass in all that red and parts of Dara's clothing almost seem torched. Only know I realise he's wearing a high-vis vest and black cargo pants like the venue's security staff.

"Here, press that to the wound," Lars says in a subdued tone as he hands Steve one of his towels.

I look up again as I hear more heavy feet running down the corridor.

Three men, two paramedics and a doctor, come to a skidding halt. "Ach du Scheiße!" one of the paramedics curses. His colleague shoots him a glance and gestures to Steve to make some room. "We take over now," he says with a heavy German accent.

The doctor puts on a pair of gloves and feels for a pulse on Dara's neck. He shakes his head and gestures for the medic to take away the towel. The bleeding has stopped.

All of a sudden I feel dizzy. I stumble backwards, mumbling an apology. I dash into the nearest bathroom and, realising I won't make it to one of the cubicles, am violently sick over one of the basins.

I'm still dry heaving as the door opens again and Fran comes in. As the door swings close behind her I can see James standing in the corridor looking helplessly from the door back to where the rest is still gathered in the corridor, running both hands through his hair.  
I don't turn around as I still feel my stomach churning, but look at Fran in the mirror.

"He's dead," she says quietly.

My hands clutch at the edge of the basin, the knuckles turning white.

"They've called the police."

I nod. In the mirror I can see that tears are running down my face, but strangely I don't feel a thing, except for my knees trembling.

She makes a move as if to hug me, but I hold up a warning hand as another wave of nausea hits me.

By now, I'm heaving up bile.

"Come on, darling, the doc's still here. I think he should have a look at you."  
Fran wraps her arm around my waist and I gratefully lean into her. I'm trembling all over and for some absurd reason my teeth are chattering even though my palms feel sweaty.

As we leave the bathroom James instantly wraps his arm around my shoulder, supporting my trembling body. "Fuck, Annika, you look like shit!" he curses.

I look at him and try a smile. "You don't look your best yourself."

Suddenly it occurs to me that if I hadn't made it into the bathroom I would have thrown up another man's cum next to my ex-husband's dead body.  
_I bet the police would have loved that._

Together James and Fran manage to walk me down the corridor again. One of the paramedics is examining Max' hand while the doctor is filling out a form on his clipboard.

Raising his head as we approach, the doctor takes one look at me and indicates we should get into the green room.  
"Okay sit her down on the coach," he says to Fran and James. Other than with the paramedic, the doctor's English is fluent, with no accent I'd recognise. Judging from his looks I guess he's either from Irani or Syrian origin. He squats down in front of me, shining his pen shaped torch light into my eyes. "You don't feel too well, do you?" he says kindly and I shake my head, which in turn makes him nod. He takes my hands in both of his. "Do you feel cold? Can somebody please bring a blanket?"

_I've never seen longer lashes._ The thought pops randomly into my head.

Suddenly Kirk is there, wrapping a soft, purple blanket around my shoulders that he must have conjured from thin air. The doc nods at him and lets go of my hands to tuck the blanket tighter. "There you go. Your pulse is very high and your hands feel clammy. I think you're suffering from an acute traumatic stress disorder - commonly known as shock," he explains, "this reaction is fairly common after what you've just witnessed. I'll give you a mild sedative to calm you down a little. And I want you to try and relax as good as you can. Don't dwell on it right now. Your friends here will keep an eye on you, you'll be perfectly safe with them," he looks up to include Fran, James and Kirk in the diagnosis.  
They all nod their agreement.

"What about Max? What about his hand?" I try to touch my own hand to illustrate what I'm talking about and even though I don't seem to feel it I can see both my hands are shaking badly.

"He'll likely keep an interesting scar, but apart from that he'll be fine," the doctor tells me in a reassuring tone of voice.

"Maybe I can help," Kirk offers. He places a hand on my arm while the doc prepares the injection. "I could talk you through a breathing exercise to calm you down?"

"Wait," I say urgently, right as the doc wants to inject the sedative, "I need to know what happened, before you put that into my veins. I need to understand how... how he died."

The doc looks at me with kind eyes. "You're sure you want to talk about this right now?"

I nod vigorously and he sighs. "He had a glass bottle in one of his pockets. It broke as he fell on it. The glass cut open his femoral artery. He bled to death within minutes."

"But... But you've been here so quickly, he can't..."

I try to make sense of it, but I just can't believe that a grown man can bleed to death so quickly.

"We were at the arena within three minutes of the call, but it took another two or three minutes from the entrance through this maze until we got here. With an injury as severe as this, one can bleed to death within two and a half, three minutes," he shakes his head, "if the artery had been severed clean, it could have curled in on itself. That would have slowed the bleeding. But my guess is that it was just widely cut open. He was dead before we arrived."

Just outside the door I can hear Gio addressing Tony. He glances inside the room and pulls Tony a bit further along the corridor. Obviously he doesn't want us to hear, but his voice still carries. "McKenzie's missing."

"What you mean missing?" Tony asks, his voice sharp with instant worry.

"He didn't respond to Het's alarm. His mobile's switched off. We're searching for him."

"Have you told the cops?" Tony asks after a short pause.

Fran squeezes my hand and tries to give me a reassuring smile, but I can see the worried looks they're all exchanging.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, feverously wiping at my tears, "I can't seem to stop."

The doc again reaches for the syringe. "You'll feel better in a few minutes," he promises as he injects the shot.

Kirk drops down into a cross-legged seat in front of me and gives me that kind smile of his. "Never mind. Just focus on your breathing. Inhale deeply... One ... two... three..."

I try to follow his example, but only manage to start hiccupping.

"Here, let's do this together," James says gently.

He sits down right behind me and pulls me close so that he can wrap the blanket around both of us, moulding his torso to my back, stretching his long legs to either side, his hands resting lightly on my thighs. I guess we look like a couple in a prenatal class. Fran sits down next to me, threading her fingers through James'.

Maybe it's Kirk's soothing voice or James' and Fran's reassuring presence or just the sedative kicking in or the combination of all that, but gradually I can feel myself calm down, the tears stop and the hiccup subsides.

Not a minute too soon, too, as now Gio escorts Bachmann into the room. Instantly, James wraps his arms around my shoulders and Fran and Kirk scoot a little closer, while Lars and Rob place themselves between Bachmann and the rest of us.

Bachmann notices their protectiveness and smiles, making a soothing gesture with one hand.  
"I've just spoken to Mr. Rosenbaum", he says and I've got no idea who he's talking about until James asks, suspiciously: "Is Max in trouble?" while Lars is already reaching for his mobile.

Again, Bachman raises his hand and slightly shakes his head. "No."  
He looks at me and crouches down to meet my eyes. "He - your ex-husband - clearly fell into his own sword, so to speak. You know he carried a glass bottle in his pocket?"

I nod and he continues. "You know what was in it?"

I slowly shake my head, already dreading the answer. I remember the acrid smell all too well.

"Judging from what's left of the label it was some sort of industrial cleanser. I think we all know what he was planning to do."

I hear the others gasping for air but feel strangely unaffected myself.

"We also found this ..." Another bottle, this one unbroken and labelled "Chloroform", duct tape and a cloth. "And this." He produces an evidence bag with the blonde hair.  
Up close - and in the safe knowledge that Fran is sitting here with not one hair missing from her head - it's easily recognisable as one of those hairpieces sold in every drugstore.

James groans, resting his forehead on my shoulder.

Fran reaches for the evidence bag. "What the."

"It was a bait. He wanted us to believe he'd captured you."

For a moment, Fran looks at her husband in silent horror. "Thank God you didn't fall for that."

James shakes his head. "I did fall for it. If Annika hadn't held me back. I dunno."

Bachmann reaches out as if to touch me, but then decides against it. "We've got specialists for these kind of things, you know. If you'd like to talk to somebody... About tonight, or other things he's done to you..." he hands me a business card and James squeezes my shoulder without saying anything.

 

In this moment, there's a commotion outside the green room. We all tense, but Bachmann holds up a warning hand, reaching for the gun under his jacket with the other hand while stepping out onto the corridor. A second later, he reappears with Gio and Tony.  
"We've found McKenzie" Gio reports. "He's been drugged and bound, one of the venue's securities, too. The doc and the police are checking on them."

I instantly flash back to the young guy that reminded me so much of Dara in the afternoon. I guess once Dara relieved him of his clothes and security pass, the outfit worked as a kind of invisibility cloak.  
Gio might have put the fear of God into the venue's securities but maybe he should have given them glasses, too.  
The similarity between the two had been striking on first sight, but much less so on a closer look.

Bachmann stands up from his crouching position. "I'm going to talk to them myself," he says and, nodding his goodbye, leaves with Gio.

This is the fourth time somebody I used to call family died. But it's the first time I feel relief instead of despair.

"I'm so sorry," I say, placing my own hand on top of James' and Fran's entwined fingers, "I've never wanted to put you in any danger, I didn't know just how crazy he is... was."

Fran gently nudges my shoulder and smiles at me. "From what I understand, you risked your own safety when you thought I was in danger. I'll never forget that."  
And she kisses me smack on the lips in front of everyone, while James turns his hand around so he can thread his fingers through both Fran's and mine.

Lars grins at me. "I guess that means welcome to the family, kid."

I smile at him and let my eyes wander over all the faces surrounding us. Some concerned, some puzzled, but all of them caring.  
I've always thought that all that talk about the Metallica-family was a bit melodramatic, but I can see now all around me that it's the simple description of the true bond between all the people in this room.

Suddenly, Rob laughs. "Sorry," he chuckles as we all stare at him, "I just recalled that sentence from Ice Age: I don't know about you, but we're the weirdest herd I've ever seen."

While everyone joins the laughter, relieved to ease some of the tension, Fran leans towards me. "I don't want to sound cruel, but maybe it's for the best." She squeezes my hand. "You're finally free of him."

"And good riddance," James growls.

And as I think about that, realisation slowly dawns on me. Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare that began fourteen years ago is finally over.

 

Maybe I am ready to heal.

 

 

The End


End file.
